


Demo Brew

by theashemarie



Series: Brewing Love [1]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Found Family Dynamics, Slow Burn, Swearing, T rating is for cursing and eventual blood, Timeline What Timeline, pearl is a bad worder, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-10-30 00:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie/pseuds/theashemarie
Summary: It starts as a simple bet--Pearl's attempt to prove to her father that she can work a minimum wage job like anyone else. It quickly becomes anything but simple. A web of secrets, a music opportunity, and a chance at love--what could go wrong?





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a way to cool off during my last semester of grad school, but it's quickly devolved to a small obsessive writing adventure. When I set out to write this story, I gave myself three rules: 1) Every scene (except a few notable exceptions) must take place in the coffee shop; 2) It needed to burn slow; 3) I would try to finish it by the end of March. I followed every single one. 
> 
> The coffee shop AU has always been a favorite trope of mine, so I decided to just go for it. Plus, I love putting my own spin on these things--domesticity and small, meaningful moments are my bread and butter. So, this fic is the culmination of everything I love.
> 
> I flubbed the timeline a little in this, but that's mostly to do with the timing of the entrances of certain characters. This story still takes place in the world of Splatoon--there's just a little bit of a timing change, and Callie and Marie enjoy secrets more. As a result, I've tried to follow a bit of the inkling/octoling anatomy (mostly the inclusion of three hearts and the avoidance of any reference to bones). Just a heads up. 
> 
> This goes out to my girlfriend, Katie, who read every single word of this 20k+ fic in the whirlwind three weeks it took me to write it and gave me the affirmation I needed. And to my lads, Kiera, Allister, Dante, Sammy, Hero, and Dan, without whom my life wouldn't be complete and who gave me invaluable feedback and encouragement. 
> 
> Okay, enough sap. Let's get to the gay.

[cover by Katiemonz!](http://katiemonz.tumblr.com/post/183279574584/the-cover-for-theashemarie-s-new-pearlina-fic)

Here’s the deal: Pearl got this job to make a point. Her father said, “You wouldn’t last one week in a dead-end, minimum wage job,” and Pearl, competitive and aggressive to a fault said, “WANNA BET!!” in a voice that was all capital letters and begged more than one exclamation point. So, she trotted her little ass to the nearest over-priced coffeeshop and applied, right there, on the spot. The owner, Callie, hired her immediately, because she liked her fighting spirit and wanted a cut of Pearl’s hundred thousand gold winnings if she pulled it off.

That was two months ago.

Pearl doesn’t know why she stayed. (That’s a lie. She stayed because Callie needed her. With Marie off to Calamari County to care for their aged (“Not decrepit!” Cap’n Cuttlefish declared as Marie guided him out over six weeks ago) grandfather until such a time as he stopped trying to get into the sewers (don’t ask), Callie was down half her staff. Pearl stayed because Callie gave her the sad eyes, the big ones that looked like a sunset on the ocean.) Her father upped the ante—an extra fifty thousand gold for every week she stayed—but she doesn’t need the money. Not really. Her allowance is building steadily in her account and she still lives at home, where her every need is taken care of. She doesn’t take Callie’s money because she doesn’t need it, so she’s working for free. “Volunteer work,” Callie assures her, “it looks good on your resume.”

Fresh Start is a small place, with only a handful of tables and no to-go window. There’s exactly two people who work there—Callie and Marie, co-owners and cousins, who somehow had enough money to open a coffeeshop in the middle of Inkopolis Plaza, the richest area of the city. There’s a decently sized pastry case and their sweets rotate every day of the week so you can never get the same thing two days in a row. Their savory offerings are mostly sandwiches, though Callie is looking into learning how to make flatbread pizzas. Callie handles most of the paperwork while Marie seems to enjoy working the counter, especially the fancy espresso machine. Overall, it’s a small place, a blip on most people’s morning and evening commutes, but there’s something about the familiar, friendly atmosphere and staff that keeps people coming back.

Pearl beginning to think that this is a distraction. Her father doesn’t approve of her sudden swerve into the punk scene, mostly because he doesn’t like to see his little princess wearing so much black, but she isn’t just going to _drop_ that for some stressful job. Sure, Callie is great to work with, but the customers can be awful, especially because they’re smack in the middle of Inkopolis Plaza, where all the fifteen-year-olds obsessed with _sports_ come after turf wars. You don’t know true brats until you’re face to face with a sweaty fifteen-year-old who _has_ to have their latte with _exactly_ two and a half pumps of sweetener in it, and Pearl is the queen of brats so she can say that.

So yeah, the punk gig. She still does it. Late at night, when her dad is out of town usually. She’s twenty-one-years-old and still sneaking out of the house. The irony isn’t lost on her.

This is all to say, Pearl is ready to jump ship as soon as she can. The second Marie steps foot back into the store, she’s peaceing out and collecting her check from the International Bank of Dad, splitting it with Callie (because she’s not about to renege on that deal), and never looking back. The world needs to hear her music, and, really, she just wants to scream into a mic at the pit of night. Is that too much to ask?

Then, predictably, things change. Marina walks in, and Pearl finds herself returning to the shop, even after Marie has given up on keeping their grandfather out of the sewer (don’t ask).

+

Pearl realizes that she’s in love with Marina about two days after meeting her. It isn’t a surprise. She falls in love a lot—with hips and large, gentle hands and sleep-heavy limbs and bright, alive eyes and long legs and long hair and short hair and sometimes even with a laugh. She isn’t picky. She falls in love with pieces of people all the time. The most recent one, a fling of a relationship on the road with her band, was a girl who loved human fashion; Pearl fell in love with the way she wore her old-fashioned hats, cocked to one side, tentacles cut short into a bob. She really liked the bob. She might have copied the bob.

Of course, relationships with pieces of people never work out. But, Pearl always reasons, she’s young, she’s wild, she’s got piercings, and she’s disappointing her father with her screamy music. Her bandmates don’t get along and it seems like they’re sick of her, but she doesn’t let that get her down; typical punk stuff, she’s assured herself. She’s going through a phase where she’s allowed to only love fractions of individuals. It’s not healthy, but she’s coping, more than anything, with broken hearts. She always has at least one broken heart.

Until, of course, Marina walks in, orders her coffee from Marie with a soft, accented voice, and Pearl has to try very hard to keep her eyes in her head.

“That’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” Pearl hisses to Marie, as she turns to froth up some milk for a latte. “Do you know her?”

“Her name’s Marina,” Marie answers, uninterested, in her own world. She’s always like that—like she’s far away, thinking about some other reality, some other world. Calamari County or something. Man, these country people.

“ _You actually know her?”_ Pearl demands.

Marie smiles then, a small thing, and holds up the paper cup, treating Pearl to her slanted handwriting— _Marina_.

“Oh,” Pearl says, and sounds just as foolish as she feels. “What’d she order?”

“Green tea latte. You can go _talk_ to her, y’know. I won’t tell Mom.”

She’s talking about Callie, who has a strict no flirting policy after an unfortunate incident involving Marie and a dare—chain flirting for tips, which Pearl let her keep, just because she actually _did it_ ; she even flirted with the tiny horseshoe crab that owns the weapon shop. Pearl swore he was _thisclose_ to hiding in his shell. It was especially hilarious because Pearl knows that Marie is like her—she falls for girls, sometimes boys, but mostly, Marie maintains, she loves food. Pearl can respect that.

“But, she’s so...” Pearl glances in Marina’s direction. She’s standing at the pickup counter, scrolling through her phone. She’s got on an oversized sweatshirt and tight leggings with boots that Pearl immediately wants for her own wardrobe. She also has large, expensive headphones over her ears. But, most notable is her _hair_. It’s so different from what she’s used to seeing in the plaza, where being fresh means having one of two haircuts. And it moves so fluidly, like a silk sheet being spread over a bed.

“She’s so...?” Marie prompts.

“She’s so... out of my league!” Pearl moans, modulating her tone so that she can’t be heard over the percolating coffee pot. It comes out as a low whine.

Marie glances back at Marina and then back to Pearl, at her dark, but designer clothes, and her pink-tinged bob, and then at her boots. “If you say so,” she says, and then turns to slide the latte across the counter. “Marina, this one’s yours.”

+

The first time Pearl gets up the nerve to talk to Marina, the Squid Sisters are playing over the radio, which gives her the opening she wants. Marina always has those headphones, so she _has_ to know her stuff about music—and anybody who’s anybody knows the Squid Sisters.

The greatest mystery of Inkopolis, the Squid Sisters are the most secretive musical act that’s ever hit the mainstream idol scene. They cover their faces at performances and don’t appear on television, which really makes Pearl wonder sometimes. What if she’s passed them on the street? The smoke and mirrors make them even more of a commodity, and _then_ they drop music without warning, as if they exist outside of the laws of record labels. Pearl is something of a fangirl, but everyone is. The Squid Sisters have it all—adoring fans, lots of gigs, and anonymity. Pearl doesn’t quite understand it; she wants to be adored, wants to crowd surf, wants to be approached on the street for autographs, but she can respect the desire to be left alone.

“Turn that off,” Callie says from the back room. She’s never been a huge Squid Sisters fan. But then, she doesn’t seem to like music much on the whole. She and Marie never sing, never dance, just keep their heads down and make coffee. Pearl has been trying to shake them out of it, but they’re both stubborn in their own way.

“No, leave it,” Marie says from where she’s spreading cream cheese on a bagel for someone. She’s got that smirk, the one that she always wears when Callie starts in on the Squid Sisters. “I like this song.”

Callie makes a loud sigh. “Of course you do.”

Fresh Start is mildly busy right now, probably because it’s near lunch, so Pearl is taking orders. Not her favorite job, but it beats making the coffee. And, this way, she can duck into the back if Marina ever shows.

It makes her uneasy, how unsteady Marina makes her feel. Usually, she’s great at this. She makes girls swoon with a bright, sharp smile, and then makes them fall for her with a well-placed hand and simple pickup line. But Marina? She’s scared to _talk_ to her. It’s not normal, and Pearl doesn’t like.

But, also, she’s determined to see her again, at least once, before she quits and returns to her gilded castle of wealth. (There’s _always_ an “I want to see her again” after she sees her again. It’s a never-ending cycle.)

Except, today, when Marina walks in, jangles the bell, Marie refuses to trade Pearl jobs. The Squid Sisters are singing “City of Color” over the speakers and Marie is grinning at her like a shark. “I’m perfectly comfortable right here,” she says, and turns the blender on so Pearl can’t beg further.

“Callie...!” Pearl tries, but then Marina is there, right in front of her. She has on a beanie today, so her headphones are around her neck, and Pearl can see how well-loved they are, just by how discolored the cushioning is.

“I’m up to my elbows in cookie dough! You’re on your own!” Callie yells back. Behind her, she hears Marie snort.

“Hello...?” Marina says, unaware of the power play occurring behind the counter. Pearl forces herself to smile.

“Hi!” she chirps, voice incredibly high-pitched and slightly panicked. There goes her hard-punk exterior. “H-how can I help you?”

Marina hums as she looks up at the menu. She gets something different every day, as if she’s cycling through the whole menu before picking something she really likes. Her finger comes up to tap her bottom lip, which really is unfair. Pearl has to force herself to swallow.

“Iced coffee, please. No sweetener.”

“Iced coffee!” Pearl yells, not because that’s what they do here but because she’s panicked. Marina is so... so _pretty_... and regal and—and—and...

Okay, so maybe Pearl is a lost cause.

“I heard her,” Marie mumbles from behind her. Above them, the song changes from “City of Color” to “Ink Me Up.” Callie appears, mysteriously free of cookie dough, and goes for the radio.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she declares.

“Oh, please leave it,” Marina calls, looking past Pearl and to Callie. When Pearl, Callie, and Marie all turn to look at her, she fidgets, pulls her hat tighter over her head. “Sorry, it’s just... The Squid Sisters changed my life.”

From anyone else, that would have sounded dramatic, but Marina says it without a single ounce of irony. She looks down at her hands, with their long turquoise tips.

“No problem,” Callie pipes, suddenly back to her happy, chipper, non-Squid Sister self.

“I’m very glad,” Marie puts in, as she appears beside Pearl with an iced coffee in her hands. “I’m very glad that the Squid Sisters helped you.”

Marina doesn’t say anything, merely takes the coffee with a small smile on her face. “How much...?” she asks.

“On the house,” Callie says, and she disappears back into the back room.

+

After the Great Zapfish goes missing, Callie and Marie leave to care for their grandfather. Something about his weak hearts. They leave Pearl in charge, and she promptly closes the store for half its hours, because there’s no way she can run this place by herself.

She does okay, all told. She considers asking for her father’s help, but she doesn’t want him buying her out of this problem. She needs to figure it out.

Mostly, that involves thanking people for their patience, because she not only has to handle the money, but make the coffee, clean the tables, and wash the dishes. Callie insisted on using real plates and cups unless the drinks were to-go, which left Pearl with large stacks of mugs in the sink at the end of every hour. She’s dealing with it.

Marina appears every day that week, and every time she asks after Callie and Marie. Pearl answers honestly—“I have no idea where they are or when they’re coming back!”—and Marina tries her hardest not to laugh at Pearl’s anxious, out of control energy. They even have real conversations, which is a step up from Pearl’s lovestruck sputterings of a few weeks ago.

“So, what do you do?” Pearl asks today, as she scoops ice into a cup for a frappe.

“...do...?” Marina asks, as if she’s unsure of the word, feeling the sound of it in her mouth.

“Y’know, like for a job?”

“Oh!” Marina laughs at herself, and it’s possibly the cutest thing Pearl’s ever heard. She has to try very hard not to grin stupidly. “I work in retail.” She gestures out the window, in the direction of the Galleria and its overpriced shops. “On the weekends, I’m an indie producer. I do a lot of remixes. I’m working on some Squid Sisters now.”

Pearl feels like she’s been struck by lightning. “You do _what_? No way! I’m in a band! I _knew_ you were into music!”

“What’s your band called? Maybe I’ve heard of you.”

“Doubt it.” Pearl slams the blender closed and turns it on. They stare at each other for a few seconds as it does its work. “It’s punk,” she continues when it’s done. “Probably not your style.”

Marina shrugs. “Can’t know until I listen. Will you bring me a sample?”

Her eyes are so bright and excited. Pearl can’t feel two of her hearts, they’re pounding so hard. “Yeah,” she says, “I will!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will update every Saturday until it is finished. For updates on my writing, please see my tumblr: http://theashemarie.tumblr.com/
> 
> Cover image by the beautiful Katiemonz! View it here: http://katiemonz.tumblr.com/post/183279574584/the-cover-for-theashemarie-s-new-pearlina-fic
> 
> Comments are cherished! <3


	2. The Squid Sisters

When Callie and Marie return, they tow in a girl of about turf war age (fifteen) with long hair and eyes swimming with mirth. “This is Three,” Marie says. “She’s gonna be helping out around here for a while.”

“That’s me! Three!” says Three. Her voice is just as lively and cheerful as her eyes.

That can’t be her real name, but Pearl doesn’t let it phase her. She’s known quite a few people with good reasons behind their unusual names, and she knows better than to ask.

“I’m Pearl,” she says.

“Oh, I know.” Three bounds forward to shake her hand. “I love your music. I wish I could scream like that.”

They make fast friends.

Mostly, Pearl and Three bond over death-defying accidents and comparing their scars. Three’s are fresher, but Pearl’s got better stories.

“I got this one from trying to do a wheelie down the stairs!” Pearl indicates her leg, where a large, lighter slash of skin decorates it.

“Whoa!” Three leans over and pokes it. Then, she indicates a spot on her face, just on the side of her nose. “One time, I wanted to see if shooting a charger straight at the ground would let me like... pogo with it? Like a pogo stick? But then I shot, and it burst out of my hand and it just hit in the nose... _But it worked!_ ”

Pearl can’t help it—she laughs so hard that she almost falls over. “At least you didn’t lose your teeth. Once, I was trying to do cool ninja tricks with a microphone and I swung it into my face. My dad says the dental work almost made us go broke!”

“One time, I had a roller and I gonna attack an oct—”

“ _Okay!_ ” Callie bursts in, carrying a tray of hastily put together sandwiches. She doesn’t sound nearly as tired as she’s been acting lately, so that’s a good sign. She and Marie have been keeping odd hours recently, Pearl thinks, because they always come into work exhausted. “Are you guys comparing scars? Do you wanna see mine?” She lifts up her shirt enough for them to see a small slash in her stomach. “Marie stabbed me with a fork when we were kids.”

“ _Wha_ —?” Three gasps and looks to Marie. She was cleaning the tables but has since stopped to watch their small spectacle.

“She was in my way,” Marie answers easily, leaning back on the tabletop. “I don’t have any scars. I’m too perfect.”

“Yeah,” Callie shoots back, “but don’t you have permanent blisters on your hands from when you tried to take pizza rolls out of the toaster oven too fast?”

Marie doesn’t answer right away. “...Maybe. Shut up.”

“Pizza goblin!” Three cheers, pointing right at Marie.

Pearl and Callie collapse into fits of giggles. Three and Marie watch them, grinning, but then Three notices something.

“Well Pearl, what about that one?” Three indicates a light scar across Pearl’s arm, faded because of extensive effort—lots of creams and gels.

“Oh.” Pearl rubs over the spot. “That’s from a bandmate. Whapped me with a guitar string. He says it was an accident but sometimes I’m not sure.”

Callie and Marie share a look over her head and she sees Three’s fists tighten. “It’s no biggie though!” Pearl says and gives them a huge sharktooth grin. “I got him back good.”

+

Marina doesn’t return for about three days after Pearl hands her a CD with her band’s latest single on it. Pearl tries not to take it personally, and she desperately has to keep herself from breaking down every day that passes with no Marina, but she manages it. Callie, Marie, and Three don’t ask when they find her leaning over the sink in the bathroom, giving herself pep talks, and Three joins in one time, just to make sure that Pearl is okay. Three’s a good kid, and Pearl will have to make it up to her one day.

If she makes it through this.

It’s not that she’s weak. It’s just that she’s not used to this. She really, really, really likes Marina, and she wants to impress her and get to know her and spend time with her. She dreams about holding her hand. _Her hand_ —like they’re school children. Pearl hasn’t been this head-over-heels for anyone in a long time.

And now she’s gone.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Three asks one night. They’re closing and the shop is empty. It’s quiet. Pearl is washing the last of the cups while Three mops the floor. All the chairs are flipped on to the tables and the world outside is dark. Pearl can see herself in the reflection of the window.

“Not really,” Pearl says. Then amends, “Okay maybe. Yeah, I do.”

Three props the mop against the wall and puts her elbows on the counter. “I won’t tell a soul. Agent’s honor.”

Pearl has no idea what that could possibly mean, but she doesn’t really want to get sidetracked here. She needs to talk about this. “So, you know Marina? Like this tall?” She extends up onto her toes to hold her hand at the approximate height. “Fond of headphones. Beautiful hair.”

Three smiles in a way that Pearl can’t read. “Yeah, I’ve seen her. She hasn’t been here in a few days.”

“ _That’s_ the problem.” Pearl sighs and plonks a mug into the soapy water. “I gave her a CD with some music on it. My _band’s_ music. And she hasn’t come back. I scared her away.”

Three winces, which is a bad sign. “Nooo,” she sing-songs, trying to be convincing and failing, “I’m sure she loves it! Everyone I know loves it! _I_ love it! I love your music, Pearl.”

Pearl considers shoving her head into the sink. “Thanks,” she says instead.

Three watches her for a second. “I think you’re letting it bother you too much. What happened to the Pearl that I met that doesn’t let anything bother her? So what if one person doesn’t like your music? You’re still badass! You’re still Pearl! You’re still the person who screams so loud the speakers break. I thought you were supposed to be arrogance personified.”

Pearl turns toward her and catches sight of her reflection in the glass again. Window Pearl is all slouchy and sad, as if her body can’t hold itself up. She stands up taller, just to see, to remember, what that’s like, and then she smirks at herself, just because she can.

“Yeah!” she says. Window Pearl is confident now, arrogant, the Pearl that looked back at her every morning for the past twenty-one years. “Yeah! Who cares what Marina thinks?”

“Not us!” Three cheers.

Well, Pearl actually does care, but she’s going to fake it until she makes it.

“Not us!” she echoes, and vows to remain this confident.

At least until Marina breaks her hearts.

+

When Marina reappears, she orders a hazelnut latte from Callie, and Pearl starts putting it together without a word. Marie and Three are in the back, testing some new cookie recipes and the shop smells amazing, of cranberries and oranges and something like chocolate and raspberry.

“How are you today?” Callie asks, being cordial, while Pearl tries her best to not to look at Marina. She’s trying to be aloof to protect herself. Her music is her most important thing, and if Marina doesn’t like it, she wants to be prepared. If Marina doesn’t like it, she likes to imagine that she’ll just shrug it off. But it probably will destroy her no matter how much she doesn’t want it to.

“I’m great,” Marina says. “I got a lot of work done this weekend! Heard some new music that really inspired me.”

“Oh yeah?” Callie sounds genuinely interested. Pearl wishes she could act like that. “Anybody I know?”

Pearl pumps some hazelnut into the drink. The faster she gets it done, the faster Marina can leave.

“It’s Pearl’s band, actually.”

Pearl almost spills the coffee. “ _What_?”

A glance over her shoulder let’s Pearl see Marina nod once, enthusiastic. “Yeah! I sampled some and did a remix. I hope that’s okay.”

Pearl looks back at the coffee and lets out a soft, impassioned scream. It’s high pitched and straight from her gut, a primal scream that she has no control over. And then, when it’s over, she puts the coffee down, turns to see both Callie and Marina’s shocked faces, says “I spilled coffee on myself. I’ll be right back,” and then marches through the door to the back.

“Uh,” Marina says.

“I’ll finish your drink,” Callie offers, at a loss.

“Great job!” Three cheers as Pearl passes her. Pearl groans, turns the water in the sink on, and dunks her hand under it, just to keep up the act.

+

The next few days pass in a blur. Marina shows up every day and Pearl tries to be slick. She leans on the counter and says extremely normal things like “Hey girl, what’cha drinking?” or “Hey Rena. Can I call you Rena? What can I get you?” or “What’s up? Where’d you come from anyway?” It’s so against her nature, but she can’t bear to use a pickup line on Marina. She’s not just any girl.

That last one though—the “Where’d you come from anyway?”—is the wrong thing to ask. Marina goes ashen and Pearl immediately realizes that she’s screwed up somehow.

“Uh, I mean—it doesn’t matter! There’s people from all over in this city and a lot of them don’t want to talk about it! Callie and Marie are from Calamari County and they barely talk about it. It’s chill! I’m from right here though! I competed in the Calamari County Youth Folk-Singing Contest and won though! Totally blew up some speakers with the power of my voice! Am I rambling? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. Please don’t—”

“Pearl.” Marina is chuckling. “It’s okay. I’m from around Mt. Nantai. Your question just surprised me. I didn’t know we were at the _where are you from_ stage of our relationship.”

She’s teasing. Pearl can tell. But she also doesn’t care. She just said the word _relationship_ — Pearl has to try very hard not to scream again.

“Well, y’know.” Pearl is trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m just curious. You keep trying every drink like you don’t know what they all taste like or something. They don’t have coffee shops in whatever mountain town you grew up in?”

Marina shakes her head with a small smile on her face. “No, I can honestly say that there isn’t any coffee where I’m from.”

Pearl whistles and leans against the counter. “Wow. You from some kind of purity cult? I heard the humans had those. Didn’t know they still existed. What about your parents—”

“Actually,” Marina cuts in, “I have something for you.” She reaches into the small bag she has hanging from her shoulder and holds a small CD case out in Pearl’s direction. “It’s the track I made with samples from your song. I used a bunch of your screams to make a new track. It was a lot of fun!”

“No way!” Pearl pounces on the disc. “You used _just me_?”

Marina nods and holds a hand up to her face to hide her small smile. “Your voice is crazy powerful and really flexible.”

“I’m gonna play it right now!” Pearl twists around to go for the radio and its old-fashioned CD player, but Marina lunges toward the counter with her hand outstretched.

“Please no,” she says. She grabs her longest tendril of hair and plays with the end, embarrassed. “It’s just. I made it for you. And I added a demo of a song I wrote...”

Pearl’s eyes widen. “You did?! I— I mean...” She has to struggle to keep a giant smile from appearing on her face. “Thank you, Marina. I— I’d love to hear it.”

Marina picks up her hot chocolate. “It was the least I could do. Since you trusted me with your music.”

+

Marina’s song is _really good_. Really, really fucking good.

It’s super melodic and the countermelody would perfectly fit a spoken part, maybe even a rap. The drums are moving and steady, the background music more of a rhythm than a tune, which is perfectly juxtaposed with her voice. Marina has a great ear for music and Pearl catches herself humming it as she makes coffee. Three is at the counter today and Wet Floor is singing from the radio. Pearl can’t get Marina’s demo out of her head though.

On her break, she sits at the back-corner table with her feet up on one of the chairs just like Callie told her not to, and she writes lyrics. Quick, snappy, rapped in a high pitch—possibly her own voice, but she doesn’t let that thought get very far. Then, she writes in close harmonies, just for kicks, just to see if it would work.

She’s so focused that she doesn’t notice when Callie walks up and almost jumps out of her skin when Callie pushes her feet off the chair. She drops into it and sighs.

She and Marie have been so exhausted lately, as if they’ve been running marathons in their free time or something. They come into work tired, float through their shifts half-asleep, and Pearl is pretty sure that Marie has been downing at least six cups of coffee every morning. It’s like they’re living too much, with too much stress, too much stuff, not enough time. But, as far as Pearl knows, they only have the shop and their grandfather. A grandfather who is still in Calamari County, being cared for my Marie’s parents.

Still, Callie and Marie are run ragged, down to their teeth, and Pearl can’t help but wonder if they’re hiding something.

“What’cha up to over here?” Callie asks. She’s not looking at Pearl, just has her head craned back as if she could fall asleep right there.

“Nothing,” Pearl answers impulsively.

Callie moves her head to look at Pearl. “Didn’t seem like nothing, but also it’s none of my business. As long as it’s not illegal.”

Pearl doesn’t know what comes over her, but looking at Callie right then, in her bright pink apron and beanie, she can’t help but trust her. Sure, Callie hasn’t expressed any sort of interest in music or writing or anything related, but Pearl has to show _someone_ because there’s no way she’s _ever_ gonna show Marina. Might as well be Callie.

“I was writing lyrics.” Pearl flips her notebook around, showcases the rough treble staff and her scribbled lyrics.

Callie sits up, interest piqued, and pulls the notebook closer. “Countermelody?”

Pearl is surprised. “Yeah. The melody is flowing and lyrical. I figured it could use some punch.”

“Mm.” Callie begins to hum, picking the notes up off the page without a pitch prompt, and Pearl has to keep herself from being boggled. She watches as Callie’s finger moves up and down the staff, touching each note with care as she hums Pearl’s rough composition.

“Do you know the melody? Can you write it on here?” Callie pushes the notebook back. “I’m assuming you don’t have a recording of it yet.”

She does actually, but it would be a betrayal of Marina’s trust to let Callie listen to it, especially this early. Still, she knows it well enough to stick the notes on the staff. “Yeah, I can transcribe it.”

“Sick. Hey, Marie! Come over here.”

Marie appears quickly, with a mug of coffee warming her hand. “You know if we all go on break, there won’t be anyone to run the counter,” she says as she sits down beside Callie.

“Three’s got it. Check this out.”

Pearl finishes the last note as Callie grabs the notebook out of her hand and spins it around. Marie takes a sip of her drink and nods. “I like it. You wrote this?”

Pearl shakes her head, dumbfounded. “I’m helping a friend.”

Marie takes another small drink. “I think it’ll work. Do you wanna test it or what?” She directs that last question at Callie, who merely grins.

“Yeah, we totally gotta test it! Pearl here needs our help.”

Marie nods and clears her throat. Then, she begins to sing the part Marina already had written, using a neutral _dah_ syllable because Pearl didn’t write in the words under the notes, and, when she gets to Pearl’s additions, Callie jumps in, matching with _dah_ s of her own. They blend flawlessly, catching the close harmonies without a single snag, and Pearl hears the song open up, even without the instrumental to give it depth.

And, some stubborn, annoying part of her brain says, aren’t those voices eerily familiar? Deeply, painfully familiar? So familiar that it smacks her hard, right between the eyes and she doesn’t hear the end of the song at all. She just watches them, so in sync, so practiced, so familiar with plucking notes out of the air and sewing their voices together that they don’t need a single pitch to match—they just match each other.

“How’d we do?” Callie asks when they finish. She’s all grins and Marie just rolls her eyes, perfectly aware of the game.

“...you’re _shitting_ me.” Pearl has to struggle to keep her voice modulated. She doesn’t want to yell here in Fresh Start, not with so many people around. “This _whole time_ you’ve been playing with me?”

Callie shrugs and stands. “Technically, we’ve been playing with everyone. You were just the closest target.”

“But...” Pearl can’t believe it. The Squid Sisters, right here, working all day in this tiny shop just off the main area in the square. “ _Why_?”

“We like coffee,” they chorus together. And then giggle, as if this is a normal response.

As Marie disappears back into the back, she and Three share a small smile, and Pearl realizes that Three knew too. Pearl was the only one who didn’t know. Unbelievable.

“That’s a great song, by the way,” Callie says. She closes Pearl’s notebook and hands it back carefully, as if it’s highly valuable. Pearl accepts it and tries to ignore how Callie’s praise makes her hearts jump. “You should go after it. You and Marina make a great team.”

Pearl feels her stomach drop open. “We do...”

Callie smiles and claps a hand on Pearl’s shoulder. “I think so. But what do I know? I’m just a barista.”

Pearl can’t help it—she lets out a bark of a laugh and Callie winks as she goes back toward the back, where there are scones to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local Rich Girl is Shocked that Other Musicians Wants Privacy--more news at eleven.
> 
> I'm aware that Callie is the one who loves food, but... what if they both did? There's something really funny about Marie being super food-motivated. Also, I know that the fandom likes to characterize Agent Three as some deadpan badass, but I saw that cape and my brain just said that she's a dramatic goober. A dramatic, over-the-top, silly child. So that's what she is to me. 
> 
> The next chapter will be uploaded on Saturday, March 2. Comments are appreciated and motivate me to write more. ;)


	3. The Song

By all rights, things should be different after this revelation, but nothing changes. Callie and Marie are still just Callie and Marie after all, though they do sing more when the shop is empty. Three seems to relax a little too, as if she was holding all the tension of the secret in her body, and Pearl easily feeds off the energy. She feels like she’s coming back into herself, back into the Pearl that’s all confidence and swagger. The past six months have been a little rough, all things considered. Adjusting to the job (the job she didn’t need but kept coming back to), adjusting to Callie and Marie, adjusting to Three, adjusting to _Marina_...

And, now she’s trying to decide if punk music really is her thing after all.

It’s been a creeping thought, ever since she saw Callie, Marie, and Three’s reaction to her scar. But, she doesn’t want to just drop her band, but they’re also not the most cohesive unit anyway. It’s almost a self-fulfilling prophecy in a way—the punk group that’s dysfunctional and awful to each other. Their lead guitarist is known for showing up late and drunk, and while Pearl isn’t exactly the most reliable person in the world, she likes to think that she’s dedicated to the cause. She doesn’t want to be arrested one day because her bandmates are caught drunk and belligerent after a gig either, but that’s a whole other issue.

But, most of all, she wonders what it would be like, to start a group with Marina. Their voices would probably go well together, and they’re just different enough that their stage presence would be interesting and fun. She wants to change her image anyway. She’s getting a little sick of wearing black all the time.

“I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out,” Three says when she spies Pearl staring pensively at her notebook. She’s doodled a few hearts beside the scribbled song lyrics from yesterday. She quickly draws a few skulls beside the hearts, just for balance.

“What? Callie and Marie? I totally knew,” she lies.

“Yeah, and I can fly.” Three grabs a scone out of the pastry display and nibbles on it. “You grew up rich, right?”

It’s so out of nowhere that Pearl has to look up from her doodles. “Yeah? Why?”

Three shrugs. “Just curious why you’re here is all.”

“Callie didn’t tell you about the bet?”

Three shakes her head and takes a large bite of the scone. “Callie’s big on privacy. She says that ‘everyone deserves their secrets!’” The last of that is said in a peppy imitation of Callie’s upbeat voice, and Pearl can’t help but chuckle. “I was just wondering, since it seemed like your whole punk thing was taking off too. You’re not like me. Stuck here until the next big thing.”

It's so painfully true, and Three says it so easily. Three isn’t like Pearl—she has to scrape to make it to her next paycheck without going hungry. Most of the time, that involves eating all she can of the leftover pastries or sandwiches at the end of the day, and sometimes Pearl thinks she sees Callie or Marie give her money. Pearl has considered offering her some cash, but she doesn’t want to offend her. If there’s one thing she understands, its pride, and people always have a lot of it when it comes to money.

Pearl sighs and leans back. She’s not wearing her usual black today—decided to go with an oversized sweater, a pop of pink that goes well with her dark jeans—and she thinks that that’s what’s got her in this weird mood. She doesn’t really want to be the punchy punk princess anymore.

“I don’t know about that,” Pearl says. “I love music but I’m not sure if that’s the scene for me.”

“Oh yeah?” Three leans against the back counter, between the espresso machine and the blender. “You gonna sell out? Go mainstream?”

Pearl bristles a little. “Maybe I am! The mainstream could use a little something like me! I’d refresh the hell out of it! The Squid Sisters are the biggest thing right now, but behind those masks they’re still just another poppy idol group.”

Three smiles and crosses her arms. “Don’t let Callie and Marie hear you say that. They think they’re changing the world. Their music _saves people._ ” She shakes her head and laughs, as if she just told some kind of joke. _“_ I think that’d be fresh as hell. You trying to shake things up, I mean. You’ve got the voice. I say go for it.”

Pearl glances back at her notebook, at its scribbled lyrics to a song that’s already written. “It’d be pretty bad if I ditched my band. They’d hate me.”

Three shrugs. “So? You _know_ they’re definitely using you for your money, right? You’re the lead but you also have all the cash. They wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

She’s right and Pearl knows it. Her whole life, people have pushed their way closer to her in order to get closer to her money. It’s a fact of life—people will kiss up to you if they think it’ll get them somewhere. That’s probably one reason why she likes it here so much with Callie, Marie, and Three. They don’t want her money. They want her.

And Marina. Marina doesn’t know either, and she actually trusted Pearl with her demo. Ebb & Flow sounds like it had been recorded on a tape recorder—an act so intimate and personal that every time Pearl listens to it she can almost imagine Marina holding the microphone in her hand as she pressed the record button. Marina trusted her with _that_ —

“You’re right,” Pearl mutters, feeling a lot like the floor has just been ripped out from under her. Suddenly, everything with Marina crystalizes.

Because Pearl likes Marina, and she’s pretty sure that Marina likes her.

+

At least, Pearl thinks she does.

It’s Saturday when Marina comes back in, and Pearl is jittery. So, so jittery, but she’s playing it off. She’s got her swagger back, finally, and she’s determined to use it.

“Hey Rena, what can I get you?” She leans deep into the counter, chin on her fist, and she smirks her best smirk.

“Hm, I think I’ve finally tried everything...” Marina mutters, staying at a respectable distance from the counter. She’s so cute that Pearl almost turns into a squid right there, like she used to back when she was fifteen and overwhelmed. Nothing made the world slow down like turning back into your childhood form.

 “You’ve tried everything _twice_. I think you’re just looking for an excuse to keep coming back to see me.” Pearl’s smirk changes into a small, sly grin, and she sees Marina blush, just there on her cheeks. She swallows hard to keep herself from smiling even bigger.

“Maybe I just really like coffee,” Marina shoots back. Then, when Three pushes through the door with a tray of small sandwiches, she adds, “Or maybe I just really like to see Three!”

Three puts the tray down with a great clatter and makes a show of looking flattered. “Oh you tease.” She waves her hand in Marina’s direction. “I’m afraid that I’m taken though. I’m married to the job.”

Marina laughs, a small thing that’s barely audible, and Pearl’s knees turn to jelly. “I took too long!” Marina laments. “I guess I’ll have to settle for watching you from afar.”

“You need to move on!” Three cries. She pulls the back of the pastry case open and starts arranging the sandwiches on their small plates, like ducks in a row.

“I’m _right here_ ,” Pearl butts in, stomping her foot for emphasis.

“Sorry Pearl.” Marina giggles again.

“Yeah, Pearl. Sorry you had to witness the sauciest love story of our generation,” Three adds.

“I was trying to be _smooth_ ,” Pearl whines under her breath in Three’s direction. Then when she realizes what she just said, she turns to Marina with large eyes.

If Marina heard, she makes no indication. Instead, she steps closer to the counter and pokes at the small menu that they have posted there. “I’ll take a black tea. No sweetener, please.”

Pearl recovers quickly. “What, you can get addicted to caffeine but not sugar?”

Marina shrugs. “I get my sugar elsewhere.”

Pearl swears that she sees her wink. The world goes super quiet for a moment, and suddenly all she can see is the floor, and the ceiling, and since when did everything get so big?

“ _Pearl_?” And there’s Marina, leaning over the counter to look at her. And Three is there, like a tower.

“Oh, you little squid,” Three says, exasperated.

Pearl picks herself up quickly. Forms her limbs back into place and grows a neck and stomach. Accidental squid form at twenty-one because a cute girl flirted back at her. She really is a gay disaster.

She has to rescue herself, and fast, before Marina writes her off as an out of control, lovestruck fool. She dusts her clothes off, picks a piece of white fuzz off of her t-shirt, and points a strong finger at Marina. “I have something for you.”

“Oh...?” Marina is pinned in place by Pearl’s point so she can only stand there while Pearl marches toward the back, where her bag and notebook are waiting. She cleanly rips the page with the edited song out and walks back, stiff-kneed.

“Here. Don’t read it now. I’ll get your tea.”

Marina takes it and follows her instructions. The slip of paper disappears into the bag, and Pearl quickly stirs together Marina’s drink. Three stands there, like a mother, like a principal, like Pearl is liable to make an even bigger fool of herself, and Pearl can’t blame her.

As she hands Marina her drink, Marina accepts it quickly, too quickly. Pearl can’t put it down on the counter and slide it to her like she usually does. Marina intercepts her, wraps both her hands around Pearl’s. “Thank you,” she says as they hold eye contact.

It’s the hottest thing Pearl’s ever experienced, and it’s just their hands wrapped around a to-go cup.

+

Marina comes back an hour later. Pearl isn’t in the front because it’s her turn to bake (burn) the pastries. Everything’s homemade and they need more bread, so at least she can enjoy herself with the kneading, the punching, the forming of the dough, and she does, but she also can’t help but feel like there’s a creeping panic coming on. She just _handed_ that shit to Marina like it was no big deal! She was so cool about it! She just _handed_ it to her!

Like, ‘hey Marina, I loved your song! Do you take constructive criticism?’ What is _wrong_ with her? She didn’t even warn Marina! Just handed her a note like it was some ‘will you date me? check yes or no’ situation. Oh, she’s so fucked. She’s fucked sideways. She’s fucked into next week. She’s fucked. She’s fucked, she’s fucked, she’s fucked, she’s fucked—

“Hey Marina!” Three yells, loudly, from the front, at a much higher volume than she usually does. She’s basically hollering. “You’re _back_!”

Pearl is up to her elbows in dough, so she can’t exactly go out there. But Three is screaming. But also Pearl can’t _go out there_. But also she can’t _not_ go out there. She stands there, panicked, stricken, trying to melt into the floor. Her knees almost give out and she’s about two degrees away from squid form again when Three yells again.

“Yeah! Pearl’s here! Do you want me to get her?!” Three’s voice is louder, and Pearl can imagine it—Marina, with her arms crossed, angry at Pearl, while Three, who knows exactly what Pearl handed Marina earlier, tries to hold everything together. Oh, this is bad.

“Okay, I’ll get her!” Three darts through the door and sees Pearl, hands and counter dusted with flour “What are you doing! Marina’s here! Get out there!”

“I can’t!” Pearl searches for an excuse. She waves her hands at the football of dough on the counter. “The gluten is gonna set!”

“I’ll do it!” Three reaches into the flour canister and claps her hands together, sending up a puff of white. “Go out there! She wants to talk to you!”

Pearl begrudgingly shakes as much dough off of her hands as she can before running them under the sink. “Did she look upset?”

Three grins at her. “She looked excited. Now go!”

Pearl death marches through the door and hopes that her face doesn’t look as grim as she feels. Marina is there, looking disheveled. Her headphones are gone, replaced with another hat, which she keeps tugging down.

“There you are! Come with me.” Marina turns to leave, just like that, as if Pearl can just ditch her job at a moment’s notice just for her.

Well, she can, but the _point_ is that Marina shouldn’t be assuming things. Even if she is right.

“I’m going on break!” Pearl cries as she rips her apron off. Three sticks her head out of the back and grins at her.

Pearl follows Marina out onto the street. It’s cold and she considers running back in for her jacket, but Marina looks spooked. Pearl doesn’t want to give her a chance to get away, so she just crosses her arms and ducks her head against the stinging wind.

“This way,” Marina leads her away from the main thoroughfare, where all the foot traffic is—Inkopolis Plaza is the busiest area of the city, where tourists rub arms with professional turf war kids, where fashion models and music groups come on their time off, and Marina stands apart, even in her shapeless sweater dress and tights. Her hair is longer than it was when Pearl first met her, and she seems to have finally found her footing. Pearl’s mountain girl finally at home in the city.

She’s mooning again, like she’s fifteen years old and getting ready for a first date, but she can’t help it. Now that she’s out here, in the cold, in the real world, she sees just how beautiful Marina is, just how different her mannerisms and presence are. She wants nothing more than to sit in this moment and let it percolate. She wants to stand as close as she can to Marina and let their hands brush, wants their fingers to lace, wants to pull Marina along behind her and explore the city.

She wants to be with Marina. That’s it. She just wants to spend time with her. That’s... That’s a new type of desperate want that she’s never _ever_ experienced.

And it’s... It’s really nice.

“C’mon Pearl!” Marina is waiting for her next to a nondescript door, about two blocks from Fresh Start. She easily unlocks the door with quick fingers, keying in the code to the lock with practiced ease. Pearl jogs to catch up, and Marina pulls her inside by the end of her sleeve. Their fingers brush and Pearl can feel her face heat up.

The room is dark, and Marina easily flips a switch. It’s a landing, with a long hallway in front of them and stairs to the right. Marina quickly takes the steps, jumping up two at a time with her long legs. Pearl follows suit, trying to seem cool, using all of her energy and her strong knees to leap up after her. They stop in front of another door with another lock, this time with an actual key, which Marina quickly slots into place. Her keyring jangles with all kinds of bits and bobs, and Pearl just catches glimpse of a Squid Sisters keychain.

This door leads into a small apartment, about half the size of Pearl’s bedroom at home. There’s a tiny kitchenette to the right, a door to a wet bathroom on the left, and ahead of her the bedroom and living area are all one room. The bed is made, and the comforter is a bright green; the walls are covered with music posters, some recent, some old, some antique, some _human_ —

Pearl barely has a chance to take more than that in, because Marina tows her into a tiny, itty bitty closet just to the left of the main door. It’s so small that Pearl feels huge. She’s immediately accosted by coats and jackets, all of which smell just like Marina, and she has to struggle to find a spot where she can breathe without getting fabric in her mouth. And then Marina piles in right after her, carrying something dark and bulky in her hands.

It is at this precise moment that Pearl realizes that she just followed this girl, who she barely knows outside of their small interactions at Pearl’s place of employment, down an alley, into a sparsely populated area of the city, through a locked door, up some stairs, through another locked door, and then let her drag her into a _closet_. She’s heard that people who think they’re in love do stupid shit, but this is next level.

Silently, she hopes that if Marina kills her, that her father never _ever_ finds out. He’d spend millions of dollars to bring her back only to kill her again.

Marina reaches up and pulls the cord for the light. A bare bulb illuminates and Pearl realizes that the coats and jackets are all old, patchy, and a couple seasons out of style. Marina beams at her and hands Pearl a microphone. The bulky thing is an old-fashioned tape recorder, with a cassette in it and everything.

“This is the only place I can record,” Marina explains. There’s a long cord between the mic in Pearl’s hand and the recorder, and Marina presses a button to rewind the tape.

“I see.” Pearl swallows thickly and thinks back to her recording studio at home, with its large soundproof sound booth and sound boards, professional microphones and digital storage. This closet with all of its fabric is close to soundproof, but Pearl imagines that it can’t be great, acoustically. “It’s nice,” she croaks. Her throat is very dry.

“Thanks!” Marina beams. “I bought all the coats to help dampen as much of the sound as I could.” She looks down as the recorder makes a click. “Okay, so the tape is in the right place. Just sing your part and hopefully I can mix them together without too much trouble.”

“Wait, wait.” Pearl waves her hands and smacks into a large leather jacket that has to be two sizes too big for Marina. “What are we doing?”

“ _This_.” Marina reaches into the pocket of her dress and shoves a sheet of paper into Pearl’s confused hands. “You wrote that right? I want you to record what you wrote.”

Pearl unfolds it and yep, that’s the sheet she ripped out of her notebook, with the lyrics that she wrote on a whim, and her scribbled music staffs. Oh jeeze, what has she gotten herself into?

She’s flattered, and panicked, and excited—because clearly Marina loved what she wrote. She loved it so much that she had to hear it for herself. But suddenly Pearl can’t feel her own voice. Her throat is dry, and she’s hasn’t actually _sung_ in months because what she does with her band is scream. Melodic screaming, skilled screaming, but screaming all the same. She reaches up and touches her throat, as if that’ll make a difference, and tries to swallow again.

“I can’t...” she says, feeling like a cad, like a fraud. Marina makes a soft, confused sound and Pearl feels like she owes her an excuse. “I’m not warmed up...” She doesn’t want to tell Marina that she hasn’t sung for real in so long that her range has shifted, has shortened, that even the rhythmic chanting that she wrote might be too much, especially here with Marina so close, making Pearl’s hearts beat out of sync, creating a drum solo out of her chest.

She can’t imagine trying to harmonize with Marina’s strong, melodic voice. She can’t imagine letting Marina hear her sing, especially here in this closet.

“That’s okay!” Marina says. She’s still fiddling with the tape recorder and hasn’t looked up to see Pearl’s pale, pale face. “This is just a demo. It doesn’t have to sound perfect.”

“Reena...” Pearl sighs and that gets Marina to look up. Pearl is holding the microphone so tight in her fist and her fingers are bleached of all color. “I can’t.”

Marina stares at her for a long time, her eyes swimming with some unsayable emotion. Pearl can’t tell if she’s disappointed, angry, sad, or a combination of all three. She wants to squirm under the attention, under her own shame, and she reaches for the door, just so she can escape back into the air and the light and get away from this terrible, frustrating moment.

“No.” Marina grabs Pearl’s hand, the one still wrapped around the microphone, and her palm is cool. It jolts something inside Pearl, and she turns back. “No, Pearl. I know you can do this. I’ve heard your voice.”

“What? No you haven’t.” Pearl’s in disbelief, but she can’t pull away, not with Marina’s hand wrapped around hers. Her hand is decently bigger than Pearl’s, and it’s so nice. “That demo I gave you doesn’t count.”

“Not that.” Marina smiles then, and pulls Pearl back, away from the door. She pulls her into her chest, into a hug, and Pearl allows herself to be embraced even though she doesn’t know what she did to deserve it.

“I heard you singing in the shop,” Marina continues. She rubs her hand on Pearl’s back. “You’re really good.”

“If you say so...” Pearl sighs, because she can’t really say no when she’s being hugged like this. “Why are you hugging me?”

Marina pulls back slightly so that Pearl can see her bright, cheery face. “You seemed like you needed it!”

Pearl smiles too, because she did need it. She needed it so badly. She hasn’t been hugged in so long.

And it is then that she realizes exactly _who_ she’s hugging. Her face blooms red and she feels her hearts donkey kick, jumping into a high-speed race against the clock. She swears Marina must be able to feel it.

“Will you sing for me now? Please Pearlie?” Marina pouts out her lip, like she knows just which of Pearl’s buttons to push. Pearl feels like she’s going to pass out right there, just from that nickname alone, and then Marina goes and _pouts_ —

She has no choice, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pearl suffered a lot of critical hits in rapid succession... Hope she's okay... 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left me kudos and comments! You guys have no idea how much those make me smile. 
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on Saturday, March 9! See you then! 
> 
> Comments are appreciated!


	4. The Name

The song, when it’s all said and done, is absolutely fantastic, in Pearl’s opinion. She gets it in the first take, because she’s been playing the song on repeat and singing along to it for weeks, which impresses Marina. She even claps her hands and goes “See! You’re a natural!” and it’s the cutest thing.

Pearl vows then not to blow this. Hearing that song... They have something here. It sounds completely different from every other group out there right now. They could hit it _big_.

But, she also reasons to herself, that means that she needs to be professional. No mooning, no crushing, no daydreaming. She needs to put her feelings away in a drawer, because, starting now, Marina is her partner; they’re a musical duo. They don’t have time for all that.

(She accepts the twisting jackknife in her chest when she thinks that. She wants nothing more than to take Marina’s face between her palms and kiss her silly as they listen, their voices blending and bouncing off each other, harmonies ringing true, but she can’t do that. She doesn’t want to complicate things, not now.)

At least, she hopes they are. As their voices play from Marina’s old, salvaged computer speakers, she watches Marina carefully, stares at her clasped hands, her lips pursed and tight, at her eyes, closed so she can listen as deeply as possible. When it’s over, Marina smiles huge, like she’s just discovered that she’s the long-lost heir to some fantastic fortune, and she lunges forward and grabs Pearl into her arms for another hug.

“It’s perfect!” Marina cries. “Now we just need to get our hands on some real instruments!”

I can help with that, Pearl thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, she falls into the hug. Finally, it feels like everything’s slotting into place.

+

Marina burns her a copy on a CD, which Pearl takes back with her to the Fresh Start. It’s been at least an hour, which is a lot longer than her breaks usually take. In fact, she’s pretty sure that Callie and Marie will be back in, because the late-night rush is creeping upon them, and they definitely won’t let her get away with playing hooky.

She pushes in with her head down, trying to sneak into the back and act like she’s always been here, but Callie catches her as soon as the bell jangles. Pearl hears her go “A _ha_!” as if she’s some child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Where have you _been_?”

Pearl holds the CD up, lets Callie see Marina’s flowy handwriting— _Ebb & Flow Demo – Pearl Houzuki & Marina Ida_—and Callie practically squeals. She calls for Marie and Three, jumps over the counter, and switches the open sign hanging on the door to closed, right in the face of some incoming customers. She shrugs at them when then look annoyed and waves until they turn around.

“You’re back!” Three cries, and bounces toward Pearl to give her a small hug. “How’d it go? _Where’d_ you go?”

“Marina’s apartment,” Pearl answers shortly. Callie walks by and plucks the disc out of her hand. “It’s not that far from here.”

“You went to her _place_? Holy shit! What’d—”

“Ssh,” Callie hisses as she slides the CD into the player. Marie comes silently through the door to the back and leans her elbows on the counter. The speakers come to life with the instrumental, the electronic drums, and Pearl watches their faces, anxious for any sign of distaste or excitement. But Callie and Marie remain stoic and expressionless, while Three just grins a big dumb grin, happy for Pearl’s small success.

When it’s over, Callie and Marie share a long, heavy look. Pearl can’t read it, and that’s what scares her the most—she has no idea what to expect. Callie slowly goes into the back and comes back with her small bag. She digs through it, biting her lip, and eventually looks up with a small, white card in her hand and a serious look on her face.

“Here,” she says as Pearl reaches for the card. “That’s our agent’s card. Give her a call, send your demo. If she doesn’t want you, she’ll connect you with someone who will. If you have to, tell her Callie sent you.”

Pearl clutches the card to her chest like it’s the most precious gift anyone has ever given her. It just might be. “ _Thank you_ ,” she breathes, agog at how great the day is going.

Callie waves her hand, clearing Pearl’s disbelief from the air. “No need. You make things interesting around here. Plus, you keep Three from burning the place down. It’s the least I can do.”

“Hey!” Three yells. “It was _one time_ —!”

Callie laughs and drags Three into the back, where there are dishes to be washed, and Pearl finally lets her shoulders relax. She feels like she needs to sleep after all that.

“Flip the sign back over,” Marie says from where she’s still behind the counter. She’s polishing mugs now, keeping busy like always. “And Pearl? Be careful. You only get one big break.”

Pearl nods. “I’ll— I’ll try. I mean— Yeah! But we’ll make this one count!”

Marie smiles, clearly comforted by Pearl’s familiar high-energy, high self-confidence attitude. “Good. Now get back here and help me sort the sugar packets.”

+

The next day, Pearl isn’t sure how to proceed. She can’t tell Marina how she got the card, because that’s not her secret to tell, and she also doesn’t want to jump into the spotlight immediately. She feels like they need to start small, like her other band did—with homemade CDs and small events. But, she also knows that Marina has been working on this demo for a while, so she can’t hold her back. If she wants to send it to one of the biggest agents in music, then Pearl doesn’t want to stop her.

She also needs to figure out how to break to Marina that she’s filthy rich and spoiled rotten. That seems like a huge omission, especially moving forward, but Pearl also really enjoys being treated like a normal person. And yes, she realizes how spoiled that makes her feel—and how unsympathetic she is. She would never ask anyone to be like _oh, poor little rich girl!_ but she thinks that everyone wants to be treated like they’re normal every now and then. It’s nice to be able to blend into a crowd when she needs to.

Also, she needs to get out of her punk band. She doesn’t want it anymore, not with the Ebb & Flow demo burning a hole in her pocket and how awful her band members are to each other. Just the other day the lead guitarist texted the group chat and said that he hated them all and couldn’t wait to go solo. Who was she to stop him?

That seems the most doable, all told. It should be easy to get out, especially now because they don’t have any gigs planned for the next month. With the holidays looming ever closer, they didn’t want to plan anything because their drummer had to travel to see her family. It’s the perfect time.

It’s pretty awful, but she texts the group. It’s a short message, a simple _I quit. Don’t text me._ And she barely hesitates before she hits send. She turns her phone off right after, just to head off any angry phone calls.

Later that night, when she turns it back on, she merely sees one message: _Finally_ , from the bassist, who never looked like she was having fun anyway. She feels liberated, and she plans her next move.

+

She doesn’t want to quit her job, for some unknowable reason. She actually _likes_ working at Fresh Start, especially now that she knows how close Marina lives. Plus, she likes spending time with Callie, Marie, and Three. They’re like a second family to her; she can’t just _abandon_ them.

But, she also needs to end this dumb bet with her father. So she marches right up to his office and demands to be cashed out. He doesn’t ask but she tells him that she’s not quitting her job—just wants the money now. She tells him to separate the payment out into two checks, half on each. Then she takes her 1.2 million gold winnings, slides the checks between the pages of her notebook, and goes to the bank. A quick cash of one check and she has 575,000 gold worth of 100 gold bills, bundled together in stacks of 100,000. Six stacks, which she slides into the biggest envelope she can find.

She stashes the envelope at Fresh Start, in the firebox that Callie keeps in the supply closet under the cleaning supplies. It’s a large amount of money, but to Pearl it isn’t much—she could easily beg that much off her father if she needed to—but she also wants to keep it close.

The other check she offers to Callie as soon as she can get her alone. Callie takes it with wide eyes and an impossible to read expression. She hands it back carefully, like it’s about to burst into flames.

“I don’t need it,” she says. Pearl isn't surprised, not with all the money she’s raking in from music sales.

“We agreed,” Pearl insists, and tries to push it back into her hands.

Callie holds her hands up, palms up. “Give it to Three. She needs it more than either of us.”

That much is true. Three lives in a small apartment across town, always complains about having to take the train and how much city living costs, even with the money she makes doing turf war in her time off. She’s trying to break into ranked, but she doesn’t have a lot of time to practice. This much money would probably allow her to splurge on a few more weapons, and maybe even encourage her to take time off from the shop to practice.

Pearl waits until Three comes in that afternoon and hands her the check without a word. Three takes it and when she sees exactly what it is she has to sit down. She falls onto one of the stools against the wall and Pearl worries that she’s going to pass out right there—or turn into squid form.

“I can’t accept this,” Three insists. She doesn’t attempt to give the check back though, just holds it up so she can read the small print. “This is so much money.”

“You have to,” Pearl answers. She’s trying to be gentle, because she knows that that is a mind-blowing amount of money to be handed, even if she can’t really relate to the feeling. “If it makes you feel better, it’s not from me. I owed that to Callie, and she told me to give it to you.”

That seems to help. Three lets her arms fall, the check held tight in her grip and she stares ahead, unseeingly. “Um, okay, yeah. Thanks, I guess.”

Pearl laughs. “No problem, kiddo. Maybe now you can chill a little.”

Three smiles, but it seems a little lost, a little unfamiliar on her usually cheery face. “I wish...”

+

Pearl and Marina meet every day in the shop. Pearl takes her break as soon as Marina walks in, usually after a shift at her own job, and they sequester themselves in the back-corner table with drinks and sandwiches and notebooks. Song ideas are swapped, band names are swapped, and they tell each other very little about their lives. Pearl tries to ask, but Marina is tight lipped about her life before a few months ago; Marina tries to ask Pearl, but Pearl is tight lipped about her home life, because she doesn’t want to tell Marina. She doesn’t want Marina to know that she’s rich or that her father bought her a ship for her birthday or that her family owns Camp Triggerfish or that she took this job on a stupid dare to prove that she can work like any middle-class citizen can.

It feels bad, knowing what she knows about Marina’s apartment and her recording closet with all the thrift store coats to muffle sound. She knows that if she just tells her then Marina can just come record at her house, in her recording studio, or she can pay to get Marina into a studio, or she can buy Marina a decent recording set up and maybe a better apartment too.

But it’s like with Three. She doesn’t want to offend Marina, and she doesn’t want to hurt Marina’s pride. As far as she knows, Marina left her home and came into the city with nothing. Everything she has she earned herself. And she thinks Pearl is the same way—thrifty, clever, smart on her feet. She has no idea that Pearl was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, was swaddled in blankets of spun gold, was taught music by a private tutor from a young age, always had the best food, the best clothes, a revolving cast of nannies and butlers. Marina doesn’t know anything of that, and Pearl... Pearl doesn’t want to break the illusion.

Marina trusts her. But it feels so wrong to keep lying to her. And she wants to help her. She wants to give her some money. But she also knows that throwing money at problems can’t solve them completely, not really, and she doesn’t want to feel like she’s lying to Marina.

She’s being selfish. She knows it. But she also wants things to evolve organically. And there’s nothing organic about declaring, _Oh, by the way? I’m the sole heiress to a fortune of billions. How does that make you feel?_

No, better to wait on that particular bombshell. For now, they need to decide on what their next song is going to be, and what they want to be called, and just how much time they want to spend together.

(All of it, if it were up to Pearl.)

+

They decide to go with Off the Hook because it sounds good, has great mouthfeel, and Pearl loves the idea of it—that listening to them lets you off, sets you free. Marina loves it because it sounds fresh, and it’s snappy, just like she hopes their music will be. It feels good.

It’s around this time that Callie and Marie announce a sudden business trip that they absolutely cannot skip. At first, Pearl figures it’s some sort of Squid Sisters thing, but then they also announce that they will be taking Three with them.

“ _Why?_ ” Pearl wails, suddenly very afraid of being left alone with the shop again. She barely managed to hold everything together the last time.

“She’s our bodyguard,” Marie answers from where she’s picking at a blueberry scone. “She keeps us safe.”

“Yeah _right_ ,” Pearl shoots back.

Three makes a big show of looking offended. She claps a hand on her chest and everything. “What? You think I can’t protect two very capable women? I’m insulted!”

“She’s actually our cousin,” Callie says from where she’s counting the money in the register. “We promised our uncle that we’d bring her home to visit.”

“You’re _cousins_...” Pearl isn’t sure she believes that. They don’t look anything alike, and Three seems like a city girl at heart. She’s no country bumpkin like Callie and Marie.

“Not _technically_ ,” Three amends. “We just... grew up together?” She sounds unsure, and she glances at Callie, as if looking for reassurance that her lie was good enough.

Pearl knows bullshit when she smells it. “You’re like three years apart.”

“Our parents were close,” Marie cuts in. Her voice is deadpan, impossible to read, and she pops another piece of scone into her mouth. “Uncle Benny can’t wait to see his little girl again. It’s been so _long_.”

“We’ll only be gone a week,” Callie adds. “You can hold down the fort that long, can’t you? I believe in you.”

“I _guess_.” Pearl groans and tries not let it show how stressed the idea makes her. But she’s also not one to back down from a challenge. If Callie thinks she can handle it, then she can handle it.

Or she’ll just have to fake it until she can’t anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pearl's digging herself into quite a few holes. Can she find her way out? 
> 
> My lovely gf Katie has drawn a cover for this story! You can view it here: http://theashemarie.tumblr.com/post/183280677189/katiemonz-the-cover-for-theashemarie-s-new Thank you so much bby! It's beautiful and makes me do the silly smile every time I look at it! 
> 
> The next chapter will be uploaded on Saturday, March 16! See you then! 
> 
> Comments are appreciated!


	5. The Money

Of course, the first day goes about as well as Pearl expects. Which is to say, it goes awfully, and Pearl almost breaks down. Almost. Instead she gets angry, which carries her through the day, through the annoying customers and the dishes and the mopping and the baking and the money collecting and the book keeping. She grumbles and curses and only smiles when she has to—which is when people walk in.

And then, at the end of the day, Marina walks in and Pearl wants to cry, because suddenly it’s all too much and she’s _so pretty_ and Pearl is _so tired_ and today was hard and she just wants to be held. And Marina must see it on her face because she just opens her arms and Pearl darts around the counter to bury herself in Marina’s chest. She doesn’t cry but she does sniffle some, trying to keep it all in.

“What’s up?” Marina asks as she rubs small circles in Pearl’s back. The shop is empty, thank goodness, so this small moment is only for them, and that makes Pearl want to cry even more. It’s so intimate, so public, so perfect.

“They left me alone,” Pearl says quietly, trying to keep herself from wailing. “I have to keep this place going for a _week_ — By myself!”

Marina’s rubbing hands pause, and Pearl looks up to see her looking past her with a furrowed brow. “You’re running this place alone? Just you?”

“Yeah!” Pearl throws her hands up, being careful not to smack Marina in the process. “I’m doing it all!”

Marina’s hands start their ministrations again, and it calms Pearl’s indignation right back down. “Do you want me to help? I can come by after my shift ends.”

Everything stops for a second. Pearl is floored. “You... _What_? You want to work a _second_ job?”

Marina shrugs and smiles. Pearl feels like she’s watching an eclipse. “You need help and I have two working hands. Besides, Sheldon said he owes me time off.”

“That’s...” Pearl doesn’t know what to say. Marina’s so... so _selfless_ , so _nice_ , so _sweet_ , so— Wait. “Did you say Sheldon? Do you work at _Ammo Knights?_ ”

“Yeah, I build weapons. He’s actually had a few new blueprints recently that I’ve had a hell of a time trying to make work. Why? What? What’d I say?”

Pearl’s mouth is hanging open. “Sorry, I just... I should’ve known, but also... You’re— That’s _amazing_ Marina! I didn’t know you were a gearhead!”

Marina rolls her eyes. “I just like tinkering, and it pays the bills. Music is what I really want to do though.”

“Well, we’re gonna get you that music career!” Pearl cries, and she pats Marina’s back like her father does—strong, reassuring. “But first I have to get through this week from hell.”

Marina chuckles at her and hugs her tight one last time. “I’m gonna help with that.” Then, she blazes a small, short kiss right on top of Pearl’s head. Pearl has to try very hard not to swoon.

+

So, she’s still not sure if Marina likes her the same way or not. Don’t get her wrong—she knows that friends don’t just kiss friends on the head, but they’re not _just friends_. They’re partners—a musical duo that has decided to trust each other with a joint career. The lines get blurry. Pearl isn’t sure where friendship begins, their partnership ends, where something _more_ would manifest in-between all of that.

And Pearl... Well, Pearl knows that she’s got a mega super-duper crush. She just wants to be around Marina, and she wants to hug her, and have her close enough that she can reach out and touch her, and she wants to know what her favorite food is so she can learn to cook it and she wants to know how she likes her eggs and if she likes turf war and what her favorite movie is and—

She’s got it bad. She acknowledges that and accepts it. She’s dealing with it.

Marina though... Pearl can never be sure. It just seems like being touchy-feely is her default. She’s got an air about her and she’s so gentle and normal about it, as if she’s used to just reaching out and hugging whoever needs it. It gives Pearl jelly knees, because she’s never quite ready when Marina pulls her in, or grabs her hand, or winks at her, or, jeeze, or kisses her on the head. She’s never ready, and it always almost knocks her down.

But she still... She still can’t tell.

Part of it is that she doesn’t want to make assumptions. That’s bitten her in the ass before—assuming that people are into her when they most definitely are not. The other part is that she doesn’t want to hope. If she hopes then she creates expectations, and expectations can be dashed, they can be broken, crushed into tiny pieces.

And there’s only so many times she can let herself be cracked.

Still, she can’t help but let a little worm of that hope wriggle in. (And, yes, she does know that she decided to let this go, to focus on their partnership, but that didn’t last very long. She’s too weak, and Marina is too close...) Marina shows up the next day bright and early and smiles sunnily right at Pearl. She rubs Pearl’s shoulders and squeezes them, says, “We’ve got this,” and Pearl can’t help but feel like she’s not just talking about the shop.

And then she catches Marina looking at her. Marina quickly figures out the espresso machine and blender and she takes to making the coffee with gusto. But she glances at Pearl every now and then, and Pearl can feel her watching, and when she looks Marina quickly glances away.

The space behind the counter isn’t that big, so they stand close sometimes, close enough that their hips touch, and Pearl swears that Marina presses back sometimes, just there, with a little jostle. And then Marina will pass behind Pearl with a cup of coffee for someone and she’ll put her long-fingered hand against Pearl’s back as she does—and Pearl... Pearl gets goosebumps, and she hopes. She hopes. She hopes. She hopes.

And then Marina has to go, because she couldn’t get the whole day off, and Pearl imagines those same fingers assembling splattershots and splat chargers and hydra splatlings and she feels herself heat up. She imagines a welding mask and a blow torch and a luna blaster, the sparks as Marina sews it together with hot fire, and she nearly spills coffee on herself. She pictures the long handle of an octobrush, the bristles taught and springy all at once, and Marina screwing it all together.

She wants Marina to take her apart and put her together again. That’s the problem.

And there’s no solution.

Because Pearl doesn’t want to make assumptions.

+

Wednesday dawns and Marina meets her at the door. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized green t-shirt, with her familiar beanie covering her head and ears. It’s been cold recently, so Pearl takes Marina’s coat once she gets the door unlocked and she stows it in the back. Marina follows her and throws her bag with Pearl’s, which is when Pearl realizes that today is her day. The envelope with all of the money is still in the firebox—she checks every day—so all it will take is two minutes of alone time to slip it into Marina’s bag.

She considers putting a note in with it, something like _For a new recording set up_!, but that would give her away. She wants plausible deniability.

They spend the morning taking orders, making coffee, and Pearl throws together a quick batch of sugar cookies. As the mixer goes, she can just hear Marina talking up a pair of customers, telling them that no, she doesn’t work here, she’s just helping out a friend. It makes Pearl’s hearts soar to hear that.

The rest of the time, they chatter between themselves. Pearl washes dishes and Marina cleans the machines, and they talk about everything and nothing. Pearl tries to get more of Marina’s past out of her, but Marina is tight-lipped. She merely shrugs and says that she grew up in a big family with a lot of rules. “It was like being in the military sometimes,” she laughs as she dries the blender. “What about you?”

Pearl considers that, considers how different their lives are. Pearl with her laissez-faire childhood, where her father wasn’t so much an authority figure as a friend who would give her money, and Marina with her boarding school household, so many children that her parents had to create regiment to keep everyone in line. “The opposite. I spent a lot of time alone—my dad didn’t really care what I did.”

Marina doesn’t say anything, just focuses on the drying. She goes so far as to grab the mugs that Pearl just washed. Carefully, she rubs them with the towel, making sure to get inside the handle and to dig into the main cavity. “That sounds lonely,” she says.

Pearl shrugs. “It was, kinda. I learned to entertain myself. No biggie.”

Marina reaches for the next mug and they spend another few minutes in the quiet. Pearl tries to think of something to say, but she also likes the quiet. If they’re comfortable enough around each other to just hang out in silence, then who is she to destroy that?

“That explains a lot, actually,” Marina says. She places the mug next to the first one and reaches for a third. “I mean, about... y’know.” She gestures to Pearl, up and down, at her general appearance, at her tight, ripped, black jeans and her piercings, two things that she’s having the hardest time giving up on. She doesn’t wear as much black as she used to, though she’s attached to her combat boots and jeans, but she’s taken up her old pink sweaters, hoodies, and crowns.

“I like the pink,” Marina continues. “It suits you. And you look like you can move now—your clothes were so tight before you looked like you had trouble walking.”

Marina has a point—sometimes Pearl feels like she’s painted into her clothes, especially her favorite pair of jeans, but that was the image she wanted. Sharp edge, hard exterior, leather and rips. Marina, meanwhile, is always in over-sized tops—sweater dresses, t-shirts, blouses, jackets—while her pants are usually form-fitting leggings or jeans. She rarely shows off her legs, or the top of her head. Pearl can’t help but laugh, a sharp bark of sound. “You have to admit though—these jeans make my ass look great.”

It comes out before she can stop it, and she watches as Marina doesn’t react. She merely keeps drying the mugs, though Pearl thinks that she sees Marina blush, just there under her eyes. She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough for Pearl, and Pearl grins at her, a cheesy, shit eating thing. It’s the most brazen flirt she’s done to date, at least with Marina, and it feels good, cathartic.

The morning rush distracts them after that, and they don’t really have time to talk until lunch, when they close briefly so they can share a couple sandwiches and cups of tea. They munch in silence, and Pearl can’t help but feel like Marina is watching her, trying to gauge something, though Pearl has no idea what it could be.

“What?” Pearl asks, causing Marina to jump. “Do I have something on my face?”

Marina takes a very careful bite of her sandwich, giving herself time to think. “Just enjoying the moment.”

It’s sappy, especially because Pearl wants it to mean something different from what it actually means. She wants it to mean that Marina likes it here, with Pearl, with this silence between them, sharing a meal, sharing a moment, sharing everything. What it probably means is that she likes the quiet before the next rush, before she has to leave for Ammo Knights, where there are always more weapons that need assembling.

Pearl desperately wants it to be the first one, but she doesn’t dare hope. She assumes it’s the second.

“Yeah,” she says, “it’s nice and quiet. Things are gonna get crazy in a bit.”

“Mm,” Marina hums, “yeah. I guess it will. Excuse me, I need to make a call.” She stands and leaves through the front door with a jangle of the bell. Pearl watches her through the window, as she swipes across her phone’s screen and holds it up to her face. As if sensing Pearl’s eyes, she turns and beams at Pearl through the window; she waves.

This is Pearl’s chance. She cleans up the dishes, peeking back at Marina to see when she turns away, and once she does, too focused on the phone, Pearl steals into the back and practically superjumps across the room. She digs into the firebox and grabs the hefty envelope. It’s heavier than she remembers, and she glances inside to make sure all the money is still there, and then she quickly unzips Marina’s bag and shoves it inside. Half a million gold, safely in Marina’s hands, hopefully to be spent on decent mics, a good computer, some soundproof padding, maybe even a new pair of headphones and a soundboard. She knows that it’s more than enough, and she silently hopes that Marina gets a better apartment, or at least some good furniture, or maybe even takes a sabbatical from her job so she can write.

It's all a pipe dream, really, and she knows that Marina might not accept the money, might never use it, but she feels better just for trying. And maybe Marina _will_ use it—maybe she’ll see the gift just as it is, and she won’t question it.

She hears the front bell again and she ducks back into the front. Marina waves at her again, a small, pleasant thing.

“Sheldon gave me the rest of the day off,” she says, explaining the phone call. “I don’t want to leave you when it’s going to be crazy.”

Pearl leans on the counter and grins. “Aww, how sweet. I’d swear you liked me or something.”

She has no idea where this new confidence is coming from. Maybe it’s from two good deeds that week—first Three and now Marina—or maybe it’s the fact that Marina has been around so much, willingly spending time with Pearl, or maybe it’s the band name and the song ideas. Maybe it’s everything.

Whatever it is, Marina seems to have caught it too. She grins right back at Pearl. It’s just on this side of flirty. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I just don’t like to see you upset.”

Pearl’s arm falls out from under her chin and she almost knocks her forehead into the counter. She’s speechless, because that was exactly what she wanted to hear, but she never expected it.

“Careful,” Marina says, and giggles innocently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've unlocked: part of the backstory! 
> 
> Short chapter this time, but next chapter is gonna be good. Also sorry for the delayed upload! I had a busy day. 
> 
> The next chapter will be uploaded on Saturday, March 23. 
> 
> Kudos are appreciated; comments are cherished!


	6. The Kiss

The next day, Marina greets her at the door again. Today she’s in short jean overalls and a long sleeved, green shirt, green boots, a new, oversized beanie, and a long, tan coat. She has tights on under her overalls, but they’re transparent, almost invisible, to protect her from the cold. Pearl finds herself dry-mouthed at the sight, and she quickly pulls her own puffy marshmallow of a coat tighter around her large band tee and black leggings. Her combat boots are laced too tight and she feels like she can’t quite think, can’t get her brain around the sight of Marina in such a summery outfit in the dead of winter but it’s also perfect. Of course it is.

“Hey Pearl,” Marina says, and Pearl tries not to talk because she’s afraid she’ll embarrass herself with some dumb gay blabbering. Instead, she waves and unlocks the door.

Inside, she throws her coat and bag in their place, and Marina does the same. Pearl quickly excuses herself to the front, where she begins to take the chairs down.

“Pearl?” Marina appears, clutching her bag close to her chest. “Do you have a lost and found? Something found its way into my bag and I don’t think I can keep it.”

“Oh?” Pearl tries to sound nonchalant, unknowing. “What’s up?”

“ _This_.” Marina pulls the envelope out and pushes it in Pear’s direction. “I swear, I didn’t take it. When I got home, it was just in my bag. I didn’t want to call you about it because I was panicking but—”

“Marina.” Pearl takes the envelope, mostly because Marina is still pushing it, trying to shove it into Pearl’s hands. She opens it and forces her eyes to go wide when the sight of all of the money greets her. She whistles lowly, just to keep up the act. “Damn, that’s one hell of an accident.”

“I know!” Marina is wringing the end of her longest piece of hair between her fingers now, her bag on the floor at their feet. “I don’t know what to do! Should I take it to the police?”

“ _No_!” Pearl cries, forgetting to be blasé. “I-I mean—this doesn’t happen _accidentally_ , y’know? Especially because your bag was in the back. Whoever did this, they meant for you to have it. Probably, I mean.”

Marina’s eyes narrow. “Pearl... _You_ didn’t put this in my bag, did you? Because I can’t accept this and—”

“What? Who? _Me?_ ” Pearl waves her hands, frantic, mind whirling at the speed of sound, trying to come up with something to say. “Nah. Me? No, definitely, _definitely_ not. Psh, not me.”

Great, real smooth Pearl. She’ll definitely buy that.

Marina’s eyes narrow impossibly further. “If you say so...”

“Look,” Pearl says quickly. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll put it in the firebox and if no one comes for it by the end of the month we’ll call it yours, okay? That seems fair to me.”

Marina looks very much like she wants to argue with that, but Pearl doesn’t give her the chance. She waves the envelope in the air and takes it to the back, where she places it back into the firebox. She vows to herself that Marina will get that money, even if she has to keep up this ruse.

When she comes back to the front, Marina is wiping down the tables, like nothing happened. “We better get moving,” Marina says brightly. “We have forty-five minutes and we need to make scones.”

Pearl is perfectly fine with starting the day over, if that’s what Marina wants. She grabs her own rag and follows Marina’s example, watches as Marina leans over the table to get the far edge.

“It was really nice,” Marina says after they’ve gotten through half of the tables, “whoever gave me that money.”

“It was. I’m sure they just wanted to help.”

“If they want to help, they should try giving it to me in person.”

“Maybe they’re shy.”

“Maybe, but I think that if you like someone enough to give them a gift like that, then you should say something. It’s only fair.”

Pearl looks up, half-bent over the table. Marina is still wiping, focused on her task. The long curve of her back is all that Pearl can see, along with her hair, constantly in motion. It’s still dark out, so she can see Marina’s face reflected in the glass. She’s not quite smiling but there is an upturn to her lips, a slight smirk that tells Pearl everything she needs to know.

“Maybe they don’t know how to say it,” Pearl says, quietly, so quietly, “or they’re worried about something going wrong.”

Marina stands then, stretches, transforms that long curve into a long line, and Pearl has to look away to keep herself from blushing. “I think,” Marina says in return, “there are things worth taking risks for.” She walks toward the back, touches Pearl on the shoulder, which sends an electric current through her muscles, and then her whole body. “C’mon, let’s go get started on those scones.”

Pearl watches her walk away, feeling like her whole world has just slotted into place.

+

She doesn’t do anything too rash that day, just to make sure she’s picking up exactly what Marina’s putting down. Things pass normally, but Marina keeps looking at her, and Pearl keeps looking at Marina, and sometimes they look at each other at the same time, meet eyes, and both glance away, blushing. Once, Marina places both hands on Pearl’s hips as she passes behind her, muttering a quiet _excuse me_ and Pearl nearly has an aneurysm right there from the panic alone. Another time, Pearl, determined that two can play game, slides right between Marina and the espresso machine, muttering an _excuse me_ of her own. Marina watches, wide eyed, as Pearl pauses and looks right up at her face with a full-toothed smile. Pearl sees her hands curl into fists, as if she wants to grab Pearl right there and lay on one her. Fair enough, it takes all of Pearl’s self-control to not grab the straps of Marina’s overalls and drag her down into a kiss.

Other than that, though, they’re perfectly professional. Marina leaves after lunch to return to work, which leaves Pearl feeling empty. She can still feel Marina’s hands against her sides, the long shape of her fingers, the pressure of her palm. She can barely focus as she goes through the motions of the rest of the day. The next batch of muffins come out wrong and she doesn’t manage to be that upset about it; she makes someone the wrong drink and barely apologizes as she goes to make it again; she gives someone way too much change but doesn’t try to get it back when she realizes.

It’s clear now. Marina, her, caught feelings. They both feel some kind of way about each other. The question is if they want to do anything about it. As far as Pearl can tell, Marina is on board, or is at least open the idea. It’s up to her.

There are things that they need to talk about—Pearl’s wealth, their musical duo, still in its infancy, their plans if things go south—but that will come in time. For now... For now...

Pearl doesn’t know.

But she wants to do _something_.

+

Friday and Marina is there again bright and early. Jeans and a light, pastel pink poncho, and when she lifts her arms to stretch Pearl sees a white tank top underneath. Most surprisingly are her shoes: combat boots, but in white, a slightly-off match to Pearl’s. Pearl, for her part, is in green—light, washed, skinny jeans and a green tank top, inspired by Marina’s summer look. The same coats as the day before, and the day before that, but underneath they’re a close facsimile to each other.

“Morning,” Pearl says, shy, nervous, unsure. She unlocks the door and holds it open. “You first.”

Marina steps across the threshold carefully, being mindful of how close Pearl is. “Thank you, and good morning.”

The day goes by without incident. They continue their glancing, their casual touch, and the tension. Marina leaves before lunch this time, but promises to be back to help Pearl close. Pearl gets through the day (barely), only burns one batch of mini-bundt cakes, and tries to decide what she’ll say. Because she has to say _something_ — She can’t take this anymore. She knows that they’re both wanting, and Marina has given her plenty signals. It’s her turn to run the ball.

So, when Marina returns, late, after dark, after Pearl has made the last cup of coffee and the last customer has left, Pearl is very aware of Marina’s physicality. She can sense her as she flips the chairs onto the tables, as she mops the floor, as she wipes down the booths and cleans the windows of any smudges. Pearl washes the dishes with her back to the room and she knows exactly where Marina is, tracks her around just by the sound of her.

Marina comes around the counter and opens the register to count the money. Pearl can practically hear the bills rustling in her fingers, the slight whisper of coins sliding against each other. She pulls the plug on the sink and watches the water swirl its way down, down, down.

Marina slides the register drawer closed. Pearl wipes down the espresso machine. Marina opens the pastry case and starts to remove the unsold pastries—three muffins, five sandwiches, and six bundt cakes. They’ll split those in a few minutes.

Pearl can’t feel her tongue. The world is moving under her. The clock won’t stop. Marina is so close, so close, and she can’t feel her tongue.

“Pearl—” Marina says.

Her voice is what does it. Pearl jerks around, suddenly far too big for her own body. Her arms fling out. “I like you!” she blurts, right into Marina’s stunned face. Her skin is so beautiful. “I like you, okay! I’ve liked you since I first saw you!”

Marina’s astonished expression morphs slowly, so slowly (or is that Pearl’s panic, making it seem slower than it is?), into one of relief and delight. “I like you too,” she says.

But Pearl barely hears her. Her tongue is suddenly back and it won’t stop moving. “I know it’s weird because we’re in a band now and it feels like we haven’t known each other that long even though it’s been _six months_ , but I left my band for you and you took me to your place and took a chance on some random lyrics I scribbled during my break one day and I love your voice and your hair and—”

“ _Pearl_!” Marina cries, and grabs Pearl by the bicep. She shakes her lightly. Pearl snaps her mouth shut. “I like you too.”

“You... You do?” Pearl deflates, then realizes that she still has an image to uphold. “I mean— _psh,_ I knew that.”

“Of course you did.” Marina’s arm hand is still wrapped around Pearl’s arm and it’s all she can focus on. “I wasn’t subtle.”

“Well!” Pearl doesn’t want to move, for fear of losing Marina’s hand. “I’m a dumbass!”

Marina laughs, and it’s so loud and free that Pearl can’t help but smile. There’s an elation between them, a sense of jubilation now that they’ve finally said what needs to be said. Marina grins stupidly and Pearl is sure that she’s smiling just as huge, just as dumb. Her chest is playing its drum solo again and her stomach is alive with a flock of butterflies.

“Now what?” Pearl asks, proving that she is, in fact, a dumbass.

Marina’s hand finally removes itself, and Pearl tries not to let it bother her. “I can think of something.” She tows Pearl close, laces her long arms around Pearl’s neck.

Pearl looks up, relives that moment from yesterday, except this time instead of overall straps it’s that pink poncho. She grins, wicked, finally in her element. “Oh yeah?” She wraps her fingers around the poncho and drags Marina down.

Marina goes easily, happily, and they stop millimeters apart, close enough that their lips can ghost against each other. “Can I kiss you?” Pearl asks, and feels Marina bite her own lip. Her eyes are alight with mischief.

“I really want you to,” Marina says, and Pearl can feel her breath against her mouth.

“Oh, I will.”

And she does.

At first, it’s chaste, just a push of lips on lips. But then, after they break, Marina makes a small sound of discontent and she pulls Pearl back in. This one deepens quickly, and Pearl feels herself being pushed back against the counter. Her back makes contact and she relaxes, lets Marina guide the kiss, lets herself be taken away in this real life fantasy. Everything is Marina, from the feeling of her long hair curtaining them, to her hands, coming up to cup Pearl’s face along her jaw, to her hips, shoved into Pearl’s.

She hasn’t been kissed like this in a while, and her thoughts go up like the volutes off a cup of tea, or the steam off the fresh pastries. She loses track of her hands, of her feet, of her body. For a second, she finds forever. She pulls Marina in even harder, and Marina gives in easily, allows them to be melded almost into one.

When it’s done, they come up for air, gasping, gasping, gasping, and Marina leans her forehead against Pearl’s. She’s flushed and rumpled, and Pearl feels a fierce pride at the sight. She _did_ that.

“Now what?” Pearl asks, breathless, just to be cheeky.

Marina chuckles and reaches down to straighten her shirt. “I can think of something.” She leans in for another go.

Someone _bangs_ on the door.

They pull apart with a groan. “Who. _The fuck_!” Pearl demands. “We’re closed!”

The bangs come again, so hard that Pearl is afraid for a second that they’re going to break the glass. She glares over Marina’s shoulder to see just who might be getting murdered tonight, and almost falls over.

Cap’n Cuttlefish, Callie, and Marie. The old man has his cane raised to bash it into the door again, and Callie and Marie are covered in something dark, something viscous. Pearl feels her stomach curdle. Next to her, Marina’s hands rise to cover her mouth. She lets out a half-sob of fright.

Because, being held up by Callie and Marie is Three.

And she has a giant, oozing gash in her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /Kickflips off a table/ Consent is hott!! 
> 
> Apologies for completely whiffing the update last week. Life grabbed me by the ears and shook me silly. We should back to regular updates now though. 
> 
> Thanks once again to everyone who commented last chapter! I'll be replying to those after this. ^.^
> 
> Next update will be on Saturday, April 6. 
> 
> Kudos are appreciated! Comments are cherished!


	7. The Agents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for mentions of blood. No graphic descriptive visuals of the wound or the treatment.

Pearl is faster than Marina. She darts to the door and flips the lock, but before she can push it, Cap’n Cuttlefish flings it open. He shuffles to the side and Callie and Marie rush in. Three is unconscious in their hold, with an arm flung over either of their shoulders, and her feet are limp as they drag her in.

“Quick!” Marina cries. “Push these tables together!”

Pearl jerks, knocked out of whatever trance she was in, and does as she’s bid. They press four of the smaller tables together, creating a space large enough for Three’s body. She looks so small, hanging off Callie and Marie, with her fluorescent green vest, some kind of fancy headset over her ears, and green and black sneakers. She even has an ink tank strapped to her back, along with some sort of modified splattershot hanging on her belt. It’s a far cry from her usual fresh clothes—all bought in the Galleria and from this season.

Callie and Marie are dressed in equally strange outfits. For Marie, she has a green hat, a white face mask, and a green shirt—way too informal for Marie. Callie is much the same but with a beanie and sunglasses, even though it’s well past dark. They both have their moles covered, which almost makes Pearl pause, but she shakes that off as Callie starts pulling things off of Three. Her headset is first, and Callie flings it across the room, where it lands with a loud clatter. Then the ink tank is removed and dropped to the floor. It’s empty, so it’s pretty useless, and the splattershot quickly joins it.

Three’s tentacles are a similar fluorescent color to her vest, which explains why her side looks like someone dropped acid on it. The bleed is a bright green color, but at least it doesn’t look _too_ serious. It’s not gushing, at the very least.

“Hey Pearl,” Three groans, not as unconscious as Pearl thought. “Don’t let us interrupt. Congrats by the way.” She coughs, and then wheezes in pain as that agitates her wound.

“Ssh Three. Pearl, can you go get the first aid kit?” Callie asks, clearly panicking. Marie is pressing her hands against Three’s side, causing Three to squirm.

“What _the fuck_ is going on here?” Pearl demands instead. Marina scurries away, presumably to retrieve said first aid kit.

“Three is hurt,” Marie answers, as if Pearl is dense.

“No shit! What _happened_? She looks like she was attacked by some acid wielding super villain!”

“She was! Those _octarians_ did this to her!” Cap’n Cuttlefish yells. Pearl had forgotten he was there, so she jumps and whips around, ready to fight an old man. He’s standing right next to her, close enough to be a help if need be, but far enough away to stay out of the way.

“The _who_? That’s ancient history. What are you _talking_ about?”

“We’re in the middle of a war!” Cap’n Cuttlefish yells again.

There’s so much to parse out there, but Pearl is raring for a fight. One of her best friends is bleeding out right in front of her on a Friday night when, as far as Pearl knew, she had been on a _business/family_ trip. What the _hell_ is happening to her life?

“Okay! You’re fighting in a war! Against the octarians! Why is _she_ involved?” Pearl stabs an angry finger right in Three’s direction, and Callie and Marie grimace in her direction.

“She’s Agent Three! She saved the Great Zapfish!” Cuttlefish returns.

“She’s, like, _fourteen!_ ”

“Fifteen,” Three puts in, weakly. She’s quickly shushed by Callie.

“Oh, like that’s much better. And you two!” Pearl rounds on Callie and Marie. “You’re part of this! She’s _fifteen_!”

Callie grimaces again. “She volunteered—”

“Do I look like I care! What kind of world are we _in_ right now? _I’m_ the responsible one? There’s a _grandfather_ here!”

“Pearl, calm down. What’s done is done. We just need to stop the bleeding.” That’s Marie, who’s still trying to stop Three’s steady bleed by applying pressure with her hands.

“Take her to the hospital!”

“No, no hospitals,” Cap’n Cuttlefish says, voice dire and serious. “No one can know that the Squidbeak Splatoon exists.”

Pearl throws her hands up. “I can’t believe this!”

It is then that Marina reappears, holding the first aid kit. “Sorry I took so long,” she says quietly as she hands it to Marie. “I didn’t know exactly where it was.”

“Thanks Marina,” Three wheezes. She gives the room a thumbs up.

“I also brought this.” Marina shakes a bottle of painkiller, a simple headache remedy. It won’t do much, but it’s better than nothing Pearl figures. Marina carefully shakes two of the pills into her palm and moves to help Three take them.

“Nuh-uh!” Cap’n Cuttlefish sticks his cane out, stopping Marina in her tracks. “No octos near my agents.”

Marina freezes. The pills fall out of her hand and Pearl sees her face go ashen. Quickly, she backs away, and impulsively grabs her hat, pulls it tighter over her head.

Pearl, who is suddenly felling very protective of all of her friends and loved ones, whips around and knocks the cane out of the air. “What the fuck old man?! She’s trying to help!” She stoops down to grab the pill bottle and spikes it in Marie’s direction.

“Marina’s a friend, Gramps,” Callie says, terse.

“She’s heard the Inkantation? My mistake. Any fan of the Inkantation is a friend of mine.” Pearl doesn’t know that that means, but it’s so rehearsed that she almost doesn’t believe him.  

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but you need to chill the fuck out. I _will_ throw hands if you try something like that again.” Pearl has about had it, honestly. Three is still bleeding, Marie has a long trail of gauze, which she is pressing fruitlessly against the wound, and Marina is hovering a few feet away, looking like someone just stabbed _her_ in her most precious place.

“This isn’t stopping,” Marie calls, panicked. It’s the first time Pearl’s heard any sort of manic energy in her voice and it scares her.

“Have you tried submerging her?” Pearl asks. She doesn’t dare move from her place between Marina and Cuttlefish, so she peers at them, trying to gauge the severity of the wound.

“She can’t switch forms,” Marie answers, grim. Which makes sense, because if Three could just duck back down into the ink and heal, she would’ve done that already.

“What about inking _her_?”

“We tried that.” That’s Callie, digging around in the first aid kit for anything that will help. “It didn’t do anything except gum up the wound.”

Pearl is stumped. She glances back at Marina, hoping that she has some sort of idea, but she’s still got her hands wrapped around her hat, eyes wide. She’s staring past both Pearl and Cuttlefish, and Pearl can almost see the epiphany as it happens.

“Of course!” Marina cries, suddenly alive with energy. Her hands fly up and then back down, where she grips her head tight. “They were developing some new ink when I left. I never thought they’d _use it_ though!”

“ _New ink_?” Callie, Marie, and Cuttlefish demand as one.

“Yeah!” Marina throws her poncho off and moves toward Three. Pearl acts as her bodyguard, keeping herself between Marina and Cuttlefish as well as she can. He doesn’t say anything as Marina leans over Three, fingers coming out to probe the wound carefully. She hisses when she touches it. “Yeah, that’s it. You can’t heal it with ink. You need antiseptic and stitches.”

“ _Stitches_?” Callie demands. “That’s archaic!”

“That’s the point.” Marina reaches past Callie and into the first aid kit, where a bottle of alcohol awaits her. She plucks it out, takes a clean piece of gauze from a wordless Marie, and dumps alcohol on it. “Three, this is going to hurt.”

Three nods and braces herself. “I’m a big girl.”

Marina grimaces and presses the gauze to Three’s wound. Pearl can’t help but watch as the alcohol meets the bleed and it all starts to bubble. “See?” Marina says. “The alcohol is eating through the ink. Give me more.”

Callie and Marie work together to prepare more gauze. Pearl, suddenly feeling very helpless and useless now that the yelling has stopped, merely steps closer. She grabs Three’s hand, and tries not to yelp as Three squeezes back, hard.

Eventually, eventually, they get the wound disinfected. Three hisses out of her mouth every now and then, the only sign that she’s uncomfortable, and Marina works diligently, carefully, and Pearl gets a sick feeling that she’s done this before.

“You’re really good at that,” Pearl hears herself say. She immediately wants to take it back.

“Things got rough at home sometimes,” Marina answers shortly.

“I’ll bet,” Cuttlefish snorts.

“ _Gramps_ ,” Callie presses.

“I had to patch up a few people,” Marina continues, ignoring Cuttlefish. “After a while, you get used to all the bleeding.”

Three picks her up head up, probably so she can get a good look at Marina. “I’m glad you were— _Ah_!—here Marina. I don’t know if I could handle these idiots pressing on my side all night.”

“I tried my best,” Marie says solemnly.

“I think that’s mostly under control now,” Marina says. “We need to get her to a doctor though. She needs stitches.”

“I already said, no doctors.” Cuttlefish bangs his cane on the ground. “We’ll have to do it.”

Marina goes ashen again. “No, disinfecting is one thing, but stitches is another. There must be _some_ doctor you trust?”

Suddenly, Pearl knows exactly what she needs to do. Her stomach curls up into a tiny ball, and she looks hard at Three. She’s very pale and woozy, gazing up at them with glassy eyes. She has to do this for her.

“I know one,” Pearl says. “My family doctor. We have to go to my house, but I can have her there in half an hour.”

“Can we move her?” Marie asks, still watching as the last of the ink bubbles away.

Marina bites her lip. “We can’t risk the wound bleeding again.” She sighs. “Someone get me a needle.”

“There’s one in here.” Callie digs it out of the first aid kit and hands it over.

“Pearl, I need this disinfected.” Marina holds the needle out to her. “Fire or boiling water.”

“I have a lighter.” It’s leftover from her punk days, when she didn’t smoke but having a lighter was useful when other people wanted a cig hit but didn’t have a light. “I’ll be back.”

While she goes into the back to get it, she pulls her phone out and texts her driver. It’s a short message, just _need transport from fresh start. seven people, one injured. get the doc too hurry_. The answer comes seconds later: _On the way._

Feeling better because she’s actually contributing to this mess, Pearl returns with the lighter and watches as Marina uses it to disinfect the needle. The first aid kit has a spool of thread too, which Marina easily laces through the end of the needle.

“I’m only doing a few,” she says, holding the needle like a sword. “Just enough to hold her together until we get to Pearl’s.”

Everyone nods. Three searches for hands, and Callie and Pearl quickly let her grab on, one on either side. Marina nods back and takes a deep breath. “Here goes...”

+

Things are quiet at Pearl’s when they arrive. It’s close to ten, so her father is either asleep or away—Pearl is never sure—and Pearl darts out of the car before her driver can get out and open the door. She plows through the front door, both to get a room ready and to get away from Marina’s sharp, surprised gaze. As they drove up, Marina, sitting with Three’s head in her lap, watched the house come into view and then loom over them, huge in its elegance and over-abundance, and she looked at Pearl as if she didn’t recognize her.

Callie, pressed against the window, merely whistled lowly. “Damn girl, I knew you were loaded but...”

Pearl didn’t say anything, even as Cap’n Cuttlefish started muttering about the hoarding of wealth and its effects on the economy. Instead, she leaned forward and put her hand on Three’s forehead, a poor facsimile for medical care, especially when compared to Marina’s medical prowess of the last hour. “She doesn’t have a fever,” Pearl muttered.

“No,” Marina said, voice tight.

“That’s good, right?”

The car swayed as they moved onto the gravel driveway, a cultivated path of small, white stones, each the same size as the one next to it. Just barely, Pearl could hear the crunch of the rocks.

Marina looked down, placed her hand along the side of Three’s face and turned the girl’s head just there. She was asleep, lulled by the gentle sway of the car and the quiet that had descended on them as soon as they got moving. No one dared speak as they drove out of the city, just watched as the buildings gave way to trees and streetlight-lined suburban streets, and it was only once they got to the large, wrought-iron gates of Pearl’s estate that they broke the spell.

Marina let out a low huff of air, something that sounded a lot like exhaustion and impatience, fear and anxiety. “It’s good,” she confirmed. “At least, right now. She probably doesn’t have an infection.”

Marie shifted from where she was sitting next to Callie. The limo was big enough for each of them to stretch out, but the panic of the evening had them clustered together, seeking creature comforts like the brush of arm on arm. Marina refused to be far from Three, and she kept a hand on top of the bandaged section of skin, waiting to see if the site of the wound would heat up with fever.

Pearl sat as close as she dared, while still being near the door. Cuttlefish was the furthest, near the front, where the window to the driver was down. Cuttlefish kept an eye out the window, probably watching the road and their trajectory.

So, they arrive. Pearl rockets out of the car and up the long walk. The front door gives easily under her hand, left unlocked by the night butler, who greets her briefly with a “Pearl.”

It’s Finn, and Pearl is more relieved than ever. He’s been here the longest, knows exactly how to get things done quickly, and he doesn’t waste time on pleasantries, especially with her. “Prepare the downstairs guest room,” Pearl says. “The oldest sheets, a bowl of warm water, a few rags.”

He nods and makes to spirit himself away, but Pearl reaches out and grabs his arm. “Thank you, Finn. Where’s my father?”

“Business trip, Pearl. Very sudden, I’m sure.”

She nods, relieved. “Good... That’s good. Anybody else here?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I assume whatever happens tonight is to be kept between us?”

Pearl grins, finally at ease. “You’re the best.”

He gives her a warm smile and disappears toward the kitchen, where the rags and water await. She darts for the guest room and flips the light on. It hasn’t been used in years, because they usually put guests upstairs where the bigger bedrooms are. She rips the sheets off, bundles them into a large ball and throws them into the corner. Then, she stomps up the stairs, looking for a lamp that she can put on the nightstand, just in case the doctor needs a more localized light source.

When she returns with a lamp from her own bedroom, one with a long neck and a bright bulb, she finds Finn there, throwing the oldest sheets they have across the mattress. Pearl rushes to help him, tugging the fitted sheet into place with a snap and holding her hands out impatiently for the top sheet. He throws it toward her and together they get it into place in record time.

The lamp is placed, plugged in, and the bowl of water lands next to it. A stack of clean towels joins it, and that’s as much as Pearl can do right now. She almost slips on her way back to the front door because she’s running so hard, and she tows it open just as her driver, a large spider crab of a man, gets there with Three in his arms. Pearl gestures vaguely in the direction of the guest room and he knows exactly where to go.

Callie and Marie shadow him and Cuttlefish follows at a slow, grandfatherly pace. Lastly there’s Marina, whose white tank is stained bright green, and her jeans look to be soaked through with rubbing alcohol and ink. She looks like she’s just been in the middle of battle, with a wide, unseeing stare, and Pearl reaches out for her, trying to ground her.

She touches Marina’s hand and Marina flinches. She looks slowly at Pearl, almost like she doesn’t recognize her, and Pearl pulls her hand back, not wanting to push it.

“Pearl?” Marina asks, and Pearl imagines that she must look different, here in her home with its expensive furniture and echoic rooms. Marina is used to seeing her in the cozy little coffee shop, where she looks like she belongs. Here, Pearl knows that she looks small, looks spoiled, with her crown and her name brand clothes and her hands on her hips. Suddenly, the reason for her spunk, her loud voice, her punk rebellion, crystalizes into one image: a spoiled rich girl with a father who doesn’t pay enough attention to her—silver spoon, wanting for nothing, no hardship, except maybe a family that doesn’t give her enough attention.

Marina, with her slight accent, her unfamiliarity with city living, her past of large family and her present of empty apartment, must see a stranger in front of her. And what about all this other stuff? All of this doctoring, all this knowledge about octarian ink, all this calm under pressure—what had Cuttlefish called her? Octo?

But that doesn’t make sense. No one’s seen an octarian in years, not since Cuttlefish was young at the very least. At least, that’s what Pearl figures, considering his... Well it’s prejudice, plain and simple. But, regardless, even if Marina is an octarian (octoling?), what does that matter?

But what does that mean, if Marina is an octoling just living in the middle of Inkopolis? Does this mean that whatever Callie, Marie, and Cuttlefish are doing is _working_? What the fuck _are_ they doing? And poor Three, all wrapped up in it.

“We need to get to Three,” Marina says, suddenly, as if reading Pearl’s mind. “She needs us.”

That makes Pearl’s hearts soar, to hear Marina say _we, us_ —the collective pronouns—because that means that she’s not _that_ angry at Pearl for lying to her this whole time.

Or, at least, she’s not angry yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pearl, realizing that everyone has huge secrets they're keeping from each other: BUT WHAT IF MINE ARE THE WORST OF THEM ALL???
> 
> I don't claim to be a doctor and my headcanons for healing and ink and all that junk aren't the focus of this fic. If something doesn't make sense, let's just blame it on weird cephalopod anatomy and call it a day. Also, don't be too hard of Cuttlefish. One of his agents (and the youngest one at that) is really hurt and he's stressed and upset. He'll come around. 
> 
> I've said this before, but I really mean it. Thank you so so much to everyone who left comments last chapter! You guys really made me do the big grin and I always look forward to uploading chapters of this thing because of you! :D
> 
> Next chapter will be up on Saturday, April 13! (One day before my two year anniversary with my gf! Wow! lol) See you then! 
> 
> Kudos appreciated; comments cherished!


	8. The Aftermath

Dr. Garra arrives promptly, and she shoos everyone out of the room. They cluster in the living room, amongst the many couches and the old human statues that Pearl’s father is so obsessed with. She’s always hated them, because it feels like a bunch of dead people are watching her.

Callie throws herself onto the couch and kicks off her shoes. Her hat comes off next, followed by her sunglasses, and she closes her eyes against the bright overhead lights. “What a hell of a night,” she grumbles.

Marie sits primly next to her, ramrod straight, though she does remove her face mask. Her mouth is a hard, grim line. “You’re telling me.”

“Dare I ask what happened?” Pearl says from where she’s sprawled out in a recliner. Marina carefully puts herself next to her, on the wide armrest of Pearl’s chair, and Pearl takes strength from that.

“You should ask your friend,” Cuttlefish says. He’s pacing back and forth, back and forth, in front of the door to the bedroom, cane clicking in a demonic rhythm that’s giving Pearl a headache.

Marina groans, and it’s the first sign of anger that Pearl’s seen all night. “I don’t know anything.”

“You sure knew what that ink was!”

“I’ve been living in the city for almost a year,” Marina answers, calm, measured, clearly trying to control her temper. “I don’t know anything. And, besides, you were the ones with Three when it happened. Who did you challenge?”

“Octavio! Who else?”

Marina shakes her head and leans back. Just barely, her shoulder rests against Pearl’s, and Pearl reaches up to place a hand on Marina’s leg, a small gesture of solidarity. Marina doesn’t react, which Pearl takes as a good sign.

“He’s desperate,” Marina reasons. “I mean, I never met the guy, but he’s impatient. Everyone knows that. You pushed him too hard too fast.”

“This isn’t our fault, Marina,” Marie admonishes. Her voice sounds exactly as tired as she looks.

Pearl’s mind is whirling, trying to keep track of all of this new information. “Wait, wait,” she says, and holds her hands up, palms forward, the universal sign to slow down. “What the hell are you guys yammering about?” Granted, she has a pretty good idea, considering everything that’s been said—octarians, war, zapfish, Three, acid ink, impatient enemies, Marina, octos. She might be a dumbass, but she’s not dense.

“You don’t know?” Cap’n Cuttlefish stops his pacing and points his cane right at Marina, pinning her in place with the end of what Pearl realizes is a bamboozler. “That right there? That’s an octoling.”

Everything freezes. Marina tenses, every muscle in her body coiling and ready to escape, and Callie is mid-jerk, trying to sit up quickly to command her grandfather to _stop_. Marie has her hand out, mouth caught open much the same as Callie. And Cuttlefish, pointing what is functionally a charger right at Marina.

“Pearl...” Marina says, so small, so broken. It’s a cry for help, a cry for understanding.

Pearl has had quite enough of all of this, to be honest. It’s one thing to be angry at someone for lying, she understands that completely, but it’s entirely something else when you point a weapon at someone—regardless of if there’s ink for that weapon available—merely for existing. Pearl dislodges herself from the chair, stands tall, as tall as she can, and steps bodily in front of Marina.

“Chill out,” she commands, in her loudest voice. Behind her, a few pictures, of her as a child, of her as a teenager, of her at her school graduation and at the Calamari County Youth-Folk Singing Contest, tumble off the wall and shatter on the ground. “Put that shit away. This is _my_ house and I ain’t putting up with this shit. Threatening my friends—what’s _wrong_ with you.”

Cuttlefish stares at her, at her tall stance and her spread feet, her hard stare and angry expression. Then his eyes track over to Marina, sitting behind Pearl, with her stained clothes and her knowledgeable, careful, gentle hands—the very same hands that saved Three from a lot of pain.

The bamboozler falls, returns to being a cane. Belatedly, Pearl realizes that it probably can’t fire, is most likely a memento from a youth long passed.

“I apologize,” Cap’n Cuttlefish says gruffly. “This is a stressful situation and I’m blaming the wrong people. Please forgive me, young lady.” The last of this he says directly to Marina, eyes locked onto her. “I understand that you are a fan of the Inkantation. You are no foe of mine. You have helped us more today than I can ever thank. I am in your debt.”

“Okay Cap,” Pearl says. “No need to get all sappy on us. Shut it down.” She drops back into her chair and Marina leans back into her.

“It’s okay,” Marina says into the quiet. “Hearing the Inkantation freed my soul. It was the least I could do. Plus, Three is my friend.”

“We’re happy we could help. As the Squid Sisters, I mean,” Callie says, and she leans back into the couch. Her eyes shutter closed.

“Oh yeah,” Pearl says, “since we’re telling secrets... Callie and Marie are the Squid Sisters and I’m filthy rich. Anything else? Anybody else got some dark thing they want to reveal?”

Cuttlefish sighs. “Octavio and I—”

“No, you know what? I take it back Cap. Keep it to yourself.”

+

When Dr. Garra emerges from the bedroom, it’s solidly Saturday, well after midnight. She’s got her long hair piled up on her head in a topknot and her dark shirt is stained a little darker. She sighs as soon as she steps out and leans back against the door.

“Well?” Callie demands as she sits up. Marie stands up and Callie follows suit, clearly anxious to get back into the bedroom.

“She should be fine.” Dr. Garra is a no-nonsense kind of doctor, which Pearl appreciates, especially now. She rubs her eyes, and Pearl realizes that they probably woke her up to get her here. “I cleaned out the wound and packed it with gauze, but it should start healing up by tomorrow. I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon to check. She should be okay to submerge on Sunday, which will have her back to normal in no time.”

“Oh good,” Callie says, with a hand on her chest. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, whoever cleaned the would did a great job. Saved me a lot of trouble.” Dr. Garra looks around the room, making eye contact with everyone, and when she gets to Marina, with her stained clothing and stiff position, she stops. “Was it you?” At Marina’s short, unsure nod, she smiles. “Your stitches were perfect. When I pulled them out, the wound barely bled. You should consider medical school.”

“Oh...” Marina blushes and Pearl sees her look down at her hands. “Thanks.”

When Pearl gets back from seeing the doctor out, she finds Marina seated in the recliner and Callie, Marie, and Cuttlefish missing. A quick peek into Three’s room finds them surrounding the bed, jabbering away at the exhausted girl. Three spies her over Callie’s shoulder and waves, a simple, gesture that causes Marie to look back.

“Thank you,” Marie mouths in her direction, and Pearl nods in return. She leans against the doorframe, watching as Three tries to sit up and Callie starts to fuss. Cuttlefish totters over to the small chaise at the end of the bed and sits heavily.

“So, Houzuki,” he says, making Pearl stiffen. “What are you doing working at Fresh Start? Don’t think someone like you needs the money.”

Pearl shrugs and tries to sound nonchalant. “Neither do they.” She gestures widely toward Callie and Marie. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Cuttlefish leans forward onto his cane. “Very well, but I imagine that if you’re that bored, you could be doing better things with your time.” He winks at her. “Wanna join a good cause?”

Pearl crosses her arms and leans on the doorframe again. “If you think I’m gonna bankroll your undercover war, you got another thing coming Pops.”

“C’mon Pearl,” Three calls from the bed. Callie has since guilt tripped her into lying back down, but apparently she doesn’t plan on going quietly. “We’re doing good work. Just look at Marina.”

“You,” Pearl says, and points right at Three. “Leave Marina out of this. I think she’s had enough.”

Three laughs, and it’s so carefree, as if she didn’t just have a giant hole blasted in her side. “You’re right. But, if we weren’t doing this, you wouldn’t have her. So maybe lay off a little, okay? I promise to not come back bleeding ever again.”

Pearl shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a secret you can keep.”

“Oh, she will,” Callie mutters darkly. “As soon as she’s healed, we’re starting a new training regimen.”

“Aw man!”

Three and Callie start to bicker, and Marie extracts herself from the situation. She puts a hand on Pearl’s shoulder and squeezes briefly before pulling away. “You’re right, by the way,” she mutters. “Three is too young, but Gramps picked her up. And she’s so determined. It’s safer to let her fight. Otherwise, she’d jump into battle without telling us.”

Pearl looks up at her, at her earnest face, and realizes that she probably means it. It’s still a really shitty outlook, considering the circumstances, but Pearl can see how difficult a situation it is. When your grandfather recruits a child into a war, a war that said child is resolute in fighting, what are you supposed to do? Telling her no will only make her want it more, especially if she has righteousness on her side. But still, Pearl thinks that Three should be doing Turf War, not fighting in an actual war.

“Whatever,” Pearl says in lieu of starting another argument. It’s late and Marina is right in the next room, probably listening. Who is Pearl to argue with the people who freed her from what she can only assume was a hellish life? “If Three ends up hurt again, you’ll have to answer to me. And I will kick every single one of your asses.”

Marie doesn’t react visibly, though she does say, “Sounds fair.” Pearl is glad that they’re in agreement.

“Anyway, if you want a bed to sleep on, you should follow me,” Pearl mutters. Just there, she sees Three send her a thankful glance. “I hope you can use stairs,” Pearl directs toward Cuttlefish.

“I can, but I think I’ll sleep on the couch, just in case Three needs something.” He stands unsteadily and Pearl really doubts that he could manage the steps in his current shaken, exhausted condition. Still, Pearl isn’t gonna argue with him, so she merely shrugs and makes a mental note to come down and give him a blanket.

She puts Callie in the guest room furthest away from her own room, Marie in the one next to it—just to give all of them some semblance of privacy (though with a house this big, Pearl knows that they could yell down the hall at each other and probably barely hear it). They both thank her again, which she waves off, and then she’s alone with Marina.

Things aren’t as tense as they could be, considering all the secrets that were spilled tonight, but Pearl suddenly feels awkward regardless. “Um...” She gestures at all of the closed doors before her—at least three of them bedrooms, each with a connecting bathroom. “Knock yourself out.” She quickly turns and marches, stiff-kneed, back downstairs to deliver Cuttlefish his blanket, which he accepts without a word. As she leaves, he makes himself comfortable on the sofa closest to Three’s bedroom, and when she gets back upstairs, Marina is nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pearl, it's ok to talk to her y'know. You don't have to keep trying to read her body language like that. 
> 
> If you haven't already, I highly suggest you go check out my other Pearlina story, Riding Out the Wave! I finally updated it after a six month hiatus! I think it's pretty neat... 
> 
> Next update will be Saturday, April 20! See you then! 
> 
> Kudos appreciated; comments cherished!


	9. The Bedroom

Pearl steals into her room to avoid seeing Marina again. It’s best if they both get some sleep, she thinks, before they talk. It’s impossible to process everything that happened, everything that was revealed, so it’s better if they just avoid each other for now.

Even though all she really wants to do now is re-live that moment of Before, those precious, glorious few seconds where everything aligned and they finally met each other. That kiss had been earth shattering and Pearl would give anything to go back there, to freeze time, to appreciate it more. Because she has a pretty sick feeling that they might never do it again, not with all this junk gunking up the space between them.

She closes the door behind her and leans back on it, groaning. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and slides down to the floor, where she lays her forehead on her knees and tries not to give in to the exhausted emotions that are suddenly threatening to overwhelm her. They _had it_ ; they _made it_. The finish line right there—happiness in reach. And then all this _shit_ fucked all of that to hell.

“ _Come on_!” she yells. Her hands fly out, angry, a slashing gesture, and then come back to grab the back of her head. She squeezes, trying to hold herself together, and feels a burning sensation build up behind her eyes.

“Pearl?”

It’s a voice that Pearl hears in dreams. So quiet, so tender, so close. She doesn’t dare look up, half-hopes that she’s actually asleep, that this was all one terrible nightmare that’s finally morphing into a dream. Wouldn’t that be hilarious? She gave herself a happy ending, smashed it, and then tried to pick up the pieces. What a bitch her subconscious is.

“Pearl...” The Marina of her dreams places a ghost of a hand on her back, and it’s so warm, so real. It feels exactly like she wants it to, with those long fingers and her warm, callused palms. She’s never noticed the calluses before, now that she thinks about it. Probably because their touch had been so limited, had been restricted to quick grabs and the one kiss. Of _course_ there’s calluses, now that Pearl knows how Marina grew up. She’s heard the rumors about octoling society—had them taught to her in history class a lifetime ago. Training from a young age, fighting, weapons, armor. It’s not that different from inkling society really, where every fifteen-year-old can use dozens of weapons without much trouble.

Still, the calluses are new, and they’re such a specific detail to have in the wibbly-wobbly, misty land of a dreamscape that she has to look up. Marina is there, kneeling in front of her still in her stained clothes and beanie. She smiles when she sees Pearl peek at her and removes her hand. Pearl feels suddenly cold.

“Marina?” She’s still half-convinced that this is a dream so she reaches out and touches Marina’s cheek, just a brush of the pads of her fingers. It’s just there, just enough, but Pearl can feel her warmth, feel the smoothness of her skin, and she realizes that this is no dream. How did... How did Marina get in here? “This is my room...”

“I know.” Marina indicates the piles of dark clothing, the multiple pairs of boots tumbling out of the closest, the pizza boxes and the dirty cups and plates piled up on the nightstand and on her desk, the drum set pressed into a corner, unused for years but still there. This the one room that isn’t cleaned by the staff, because Pearl likes her privacy, and it shows.

“Oh.” Pearl tries not to let herself feel stupid. “I thought... Guest room?”

Marina shrugs and sits back on her heels. “Too lonely. Too much stuff happened tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”

She doesn’t. Holy fuck she definitely doesn’t mind, but things are so messed up right now. “I— No, but... We need to talk?”

Marina blows a sharp breath through her mouth. “Oh yeah. I just... Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Pearl says. That’s fair. She doesn’t want to talk about it tonight either. “Okay. So, what...?”

“I’m... I’m tired of sleeping alone.”

She says it so plainly, so honestly, that it almost rips Pearl to shreds right there. Suddenly, Marina’s voice sounds in her ears, from only a little while ago: _There were a lot of us. We shared a room. I was never alone._ Of course, now it means a lot more, more than just a large family with too many children. Now there’s the implication of a childhood spent in training, without parents, or worse—learning to develop weapons—with a bunch of bunkmates, a family of sorts that she was always with.

“Reena...” Pearl doesn’t move, doesn’t dare try to touch Marina, but she hopes that her voice is as earnest as she feels. She realizes that she’s being soft and tender, but the time for her hard, punk exterior has passed. Instead, it’s about time that she treats Marina with the same tenderness that Marina treats her with. “If you don’t want to sleep alone, you don’t have to.”

It’s a promise, a promise that extends well beyond tonight. If Pearl had it her way, Marina would have someone there every night.

Marina swallows visibly and Pearl thinks she sees something swimming just behind her eyes. “I’ve been so lonely...”

Pearl doesn’t know what to say, because she can’t imagine that. Going from a life of constant companionship to one of loneliness—and not just like moving out of home into your first apartment. She gave up _everything_ , everyone she knew, the world she knew, the life path that she counted on... All for an unfamiliar life in an unfamiliar city full of unfamiliar people. She probably learned the language from scratch, probably had to learn the culture from TV, movies, and books, and was probably on a quest to understand everything when she wandered into Fresh Start that first time. Her return trips, all those different coffee orders, were her way of getting a grasp on the little things—the things that TV and books can’t teach you.

And, somewhere along the way, she got Pearl too.

“I... I’m sorry Marina.”

Marina shakes her head and stands, whirls around and pads across the large room to the large bed. Inexplicably, Pearl finds herself uncomfortable with all of the excess, from the king bed to the floor-to-ceiling windows with their large, heavy drapes, to the gold trim along the baseboards.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you...” Marina says. With her back to Pearl, she reaches up and tugs her hat off. Her hair springs up, happy to be free of its prison, and Pearl stands slowly.

“Are you kidding?” She approaches carefully because she doesn’t want to spook Marina. “I didn’t want to tell you about all of _this_.” She indicates the room at large, though Marina isn’t looking. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who should be _begging_ for forgiveness.”

Marina laughs then, a soft, twinkle of a sound. It makes Pearl’s spirits lift a little. “This is your secret to keep,” Pearl continues. “You don’t have to tell anyone you don’t want to. I’m sorry that I found out without your permission. I’m sorry that it just came out like this.”

Marina turns then, and Pearl is treated to the sight of the big secret, the reason for the hats and the headphones—a pair of ears that are slightly different from her own. Rounded, asymmetrical and a dead giveaway if you know what to look for. It’s such a small thing to hide, but Pearl knows that it has to bring Marina comfort, this active overcorrection of her image. A sort of protection spell, the covering of her ears, to keep her secret safe.

It’s a big thing to share with Pearl, and Pearl doesn’t know what to say. Everything that comes to mind is too sappy, too on-the-nose, sounds too insincere.

In the end, she decides on something simple: “Thank you.”

Marina wrings her hat between her hands. “No, thank you... For always being right there when I needed you. Coming to see you every day made me feel less lonely.”

Pearl steps closer, so close that they’re sharing the same air. “No biggie,” she says, trying to lighten the mood a little. “Thanks for giving me a reason to come back every day.”

Marina shakes her head, amused, sending her hair bouncing. She stoops down and presses a kiss to the top of Pearl’s head and then steps away. It’s not nearly the kiss that Pearl wants, but she’ll take it. It’s a step in the right direction.

+

In the morning, Pearl wakes up very warm and she kicks one of her legs out from under the covers. This movement causes something behind her to shift and she peers back blearily, not quite all the way awake and in control of her memory or body.

Marina’s sleeping face is right there, like the full moon, and Pearl realizes a bit belatedly that the reason that she’s warm is because they’re close enough to be almost cuddling. Marina’s hand is curled up beside her face and her face is serene, relaxed, completely at ease in the strange bed. Pearl considers just lying there for a few minutes, watching her breathe, but she decides against it because the inevitable embarrassment should Marina wake up is too much. She wants to save Marina as much emotional pain as possible.

Instead, she stands, stretches herself tall, up on her toes, arms above her head, and then searches for a jacket and some slippers—a house this big is never really warmed through, and she remembers vaguely that there was snow in the forecast. At least, she thinks that’s what she remembers; after the whirlwind of last night, is anything real?

When she opens the door, there’s a small bundle of clothes waiting for her. Last night, she refused to let Marina go to sleep without something proper and clean on, so she leant Marina her biggest hoodie and an oversized pair basketball shorts. She handed Marina’s soiled, ink-stained clothes to Finn to be laundered and here is the result—ironed and folded neatly.

She trots back inside and places the clothes on the end of the bed. It’s a king-size and she vaguely remembers falling asleep on opposite sides of it, with miles of mattress between them. Pearl smiles when she thinks of that—rolling toward each other in the middle of the night until they were almost on top of each other. Maybe Pearl is just as lonely as Marina.

That thought carries her downstairs and into the kitchen. The clock reads eleven in the morning, but she doesn’t expect anyone else to be awake yet. One in the morning isn’t that late to go to sleep—for Pearl—but the emotional toll of the day would probably have everyone else clocked out until at least one or two. In the meantime, she wants to hunt up some breakfast—or lunch, or brunch—but she knows that the pantry is probably empty because her father is gone most days and Pearl herself has started eating a lot of Fresh Start’s leftover food for dinner. Instead, she picks up the phone and orders some bagels, fresh fruit, and juice. Something light after a heavy night.

She’s pretty proud of herself, all told. Here she is, being a responsible host, providing food, beds, and clothes for her friends. Maybe she’s finally growing up.

She moseys into the living room, where Cuttlefish is still dead asleep. In the light of day, he’s not nearly as threatening as he appeared last night, and Pearl wonders if maybe they were all overreacting. Well, except Marina, who managed to keep cool despite the secret of her life being revealed without her permission. Here’s this old man, Callie and Marie’s grandfather, earnestly believing that he’s fighting the good fight. Maybe Pearl was a little too hard on him, but he was also a little too hard on Marina. Three was hurt, she understands that, so he was defensive and panicked, but that didn’t excuse some things.

Pearl opens the door to the downstairs bedroom and peeks inside. Three is awake, sitting up in bed and tapping away at her phone, and Pearl steps all the way inside, closing the door softly behind her.

“Where’d you get that?” she asks, bemused.

Three gestures toward her discarded, bright green vest. “Pockets,” she says simply. She has the blanket pulled up to her chest, but Pearl can just see the straps of a black tank top, so at least she has some covering. “The real question,” Three continues, “is if you have a phone charger I can borrow. This thing’s running on fumes.”

Pearl laughs. “It’s upstairs. It’ll have to wait until Marina wakes up though.”

The phone falls as Three gives Pearl a pleased, mischievous smile. “Oh yeah? Is she asleep in _your room_? You slick squid! Did you sleep together—like... in the same _bed_?”

Pearl decides to play coy, just to keep the game going longer. It’s nice to see Three back to her normal self. “Maybe, maybe not. That ain’t your business, kiddo.”

“Oh, you so did!” Three points an emphatic finger at Pearl. Her smile grows impossibly larger. “Oh girl, you’re so lucky. Tell me everything.”

Pearl pats Three on the knee. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Noooo!” Three wails. “First my phone and now this! Why are you so cruel!”

Pearl can’t help but chuckle and finds herself thanking every force of nature and deity that she can think of that Three is okay. “I’ll make you some breakfast instead. How about that? You like bagels?”

“Do I like bagels? Come on my dude. I eat them like every day at Fresh Start.”

“Thought so.” Pearl stands. “I’ll be right back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want a bagel so bad... This fic is such wish fulfillment. 
> 
> I forgot I was supposed to update this until just now... Whoops! 
> 
> Dear readers... Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments. They truly make my life brighter and make working on this story worth it! 
> 
> Next update will be on Saturday, April 27! See you then! 
> 
> Kudos appreciated; comments cherished!


	10. The Next Morning

After they share their small breakfast, Pearl leaves Three to rest more, promising to check on her in a couple hours. Things are still quiet in the house, with barely a creak from upstairs, and Pearl doesn’t know what to do with herself now. She tries to keep busy by washing the rest of the fruit and popping it into the fridge to keep cool; she cuts some of the bagels and prepares them for toasting; she even cleans up the kitchen a little, despite having staff that they pay to do that.

Eventually, thankfully, someone begins to make their way down the stairs. Pearl, who has since resorted to doing the crossword in that morning’s paper, perks up and folds the thin pages back into shape, just in case.

“Pearl?” It’s Marina, still dressed in Pearl’s oversized clothes. Well, oversized on Pearl—they fit Marina perfectly, just on this side of baggy and Pearl has a moment’s fantasy about other, less traumatic mornings featuring Marina wearing Pearl’s hoodies. Oh, what a fantastic dream. She wants nothing more than for it to be real this instant. “How long have you been up?”

“Bout an hour. Saw Three. She’s doing good.”

“You saw Three?” Marina’s voice is groggy and she looks warm and mussed from the bed. “Is she awake?”

“Not anymore.” Pearl pushes the plate of bagels toward Marina. “Breakfast? I have fruit too. Do you like pulp in your orange juice?”

Marina’s nose wrinkles and Pearl has a momentary flash of panic. What if she doesn’t like bagels? She doesn’t have anything else— “I hate pulp,” Marina mutters darkly. “Chewy drink bad.”

It’s so visceral that Pearl has to laugh. “Okay, no biggie. I can strain it. I’ll put it in my glass.” She doesn’t have a glass, but she’ll happily get one just to make Marina happy. “You like bagels though, right...?”

Marina lets out a small laugh, just there at the back of her throat. “Yes, I like bagels.” She easily picks one off the plate and makes her way to the toaster oven likes she owns the place. As she flips the door closed and turns it on, she turns back just as Pearl is pouring a large jug of orange juice through a strainer into a glass. She easily dumps all of the pulp into a different glass and then pours more juice in.

“Yum,” Pearl says as she hands Marina her strained juice. Pearl takes a long swig and then makes a show of chewing through the pulp. “Crunchy.”

Marina makes a noise of disgust, face screwed up. “Horrible,” she mutters as she sips her drink. It goes down smooth. “Why do I like her?” she mutters to herself.

It’s a small, quiet thing, but Pearl hears it and it makes her grin. “Because I eat your pulp,” she answers, even though the question wasn’t directed at her. “We complete each other.”

Marina smiles a small smile. “You can buy orange juice without pulp, you know.”

“Maybe, but that’s boring. You need the chunks—they build character.”

Immediately, Pearl wants to kick herself for saying that. _Chunks,_ really? That’s _so_ attractive, especially first thing in the morning.

Marina takes a long drink, probably so she doesn’t have to respond, and Pearl watches her throat undulate like waves on the water as she swallows. It’s far too much for this early in the morning so she looks away.

Luckily, the toaster oven beeps, saving them from any further talk of chunks, and Marina easily spreads cream cheese over her newly browned bagel. She plucks a few grapes out of the bowl that Pearl offers her and pops them whole in her mouth.

“Anybody else awake?” she asks once she’s swallowed.

Pearl shakes her head. “Just Three. She was on her phone when I went in. Which reminds me...”

She excuses herself to go get the requested phone charger, and she spies Marina’s clothes on the bed as she walks toward her dresser. Perfectly clean, perfectly folded, Marina could have easily slipped back into them.

But she didn’t. Instead, she opted to stay in what are clearly Pearl’s clothes.

Pearl feels herself warm at the thought, and she grabs the cord as quickly as she can, just so she can get back downstairs.

+

Pearl and Marina spend the next hour together, pouring over the crossword. Marina knows more advanced vocabulary than Pearl does, but Pearl gets the idioms, so they end up teaching each other. Marina picks at her bagel, eating it slowly, and she keeps glancing at Pearl every time she takes a sip of her drink and then has to chew to get through the pulp. Pearl thinks that she sees her nose scrunch up in disgust a few times and she tries to chew a little less. She doesn’t want to put Marina off with more chunks.

Eventually, Marie trundles down the stairs and beelines right for the coffee machine. She stares at it for a few seconds, because it’s a little more complex than the one in Fresh Start, but she eventually gets it. Punches a few buttons, opens the cabinet above it like she owns the place, and there’s the coffee, sitting in its tin. She scoops it out and sets it to percolate before turning around.

“Morning!” Marina chirps.

“Morning,” Marie grumbles. “These bagels? You got any fish?”

Pearl doesn’t think she does, but she makes a show of opening the fridge and looking. The search turns up nothing and Marie looks disappointed but not devastated. Instead, she piles cream cheese and sliced strawberries on the bagel and takes a large bite. “Thanks, by the way,” she says around her full mouth.

The coffee finishes and Marie pours herself a cup. She drinks it black and hot and Pearl forces herself to look away when she goes to pour a second mug.

Callie comes down fifteen minutes later and grabs a dry bagel as she passes. She keeps walking, marches all the way to Three’s room and slips inside. Pearl watches her and Marina shifts, stands, says that she wants to see Three too.

She disappears into the room and Marie pulls the paper toward herself. She flips to the sports section, where last month’s top one hundred players are listed. She doesn’t make a sound as she skims down the list, but she does hover on a few names, finger just touching the page.

“You like tower control?” Pearl asks, just for want of sound.

Marie shrugs and leans back on her stool. “I haven’t been able to play in a long time. Too much going on.”

Pearl imagines that she wouldn’t have time. Between saving the world, performing in the world’s hottest idol group, and serving coffee, she wouldn’t have time to hit the ranked scene. Pearl can relate.

“Why do you do it?” Pearl asks. The ire of last night is gone, replaced with genuine curiosity.

“What? All of it?” Marie groans and flips the paper closed. “I don’t know anymore. I’m tired. Sometimes I wonder if it’d be easier if we just told everyone who we are. The Squid Sisters I mean.”

Pearl shrugs. “It’d be different. Can’t say if it’d be easier.”

Marie reaches for her half-eaten bagel and takes a long bite. “What about you? Why do you do it?”

She means working in the shop. “You guys,” Pearl says plainly. “You, Callie, and Three. And Marina. You’re always happy to see me. It’s nice.”

Marie stretches, finally awake with two cups of coffee in her. “It’s nice to be treated like you’re normal, isn’t it? All these secrets—” She gestures at the table, at Marina’s plate, covered in crumbs, at herself, at Pearl, at Cuttlefish, still asleep on the couch. “It’s all because we want to be treated like we’re normal. Nothing more normal than a cup of coffee.”

+

Eventually, Cuttlefish wakes up and Callie and Marina flee Three’s room. Just barely, Pearl can hear Three yelling at them to get back there and put their money where their mouths are.

Cuttlefish calls a general good morning to the room and hobbles into Three’s room. Meanwhile, Callie grabs some coffee and sits beside Marie. She opens the paper to the sports section and goes down the list in an echo to Marie earlier. She even stops on the same names. Marina, meanwhile, picks up her plate and delivers it to the sink. She turns the water on and starts to wash it.

Pearl decides to let her. It’s less painful to let her wash it than try to explain that the maid will do it later. She’s still painfully aware of her wealth, especially here in the epicenter of it.

Spurred by this thought, she hops up and gathers the rest of the dirty dishes. Carefully, she bumps Marina out of the way and starts to wash them herself. It’s so normal and domestic that Pearl can almost feel it calming her, bring her back down to earth. These are the grounding moments of trauma: the normal things that remind her of when things weren’t so crazy.

Marina takes up drying the dishes, finding a hand towel in a nearby drawer, and they get through the few plates and cups easily. Marie refuses to let them have her coffee cup, and Pearl realizes that she intends to drink the whole pot in one sitting. She considers trying to stop her, but after the night they’ve all shared, she decides to let it slide.

And since when is she the responsible one anyway? Not six months ago she was sneaking out of the house in order to scream-sing about tearing the establishment to the ground; fuck the man! she used to scream. Now she’s worrying about her friend drinking too much coffee.

Of course, there is the qualifying fact that the night before she caught wind that said friend was trying to save the world with the help of a _child_. Extenuating circumstances, Pearl. Perspective is important.

When they finish with the dishes, Pearl doesn’t know what to do with herself. The busyness of the morning has given way to the lull of a quiet, subdued afternoon, and she doesn’t like it. She has too much energy, and Marina is _right there_ too and what is she supposed to do about all this tension anyway? She doesn’t want to talk about it with Callie and Marie right there.

Luckily, happily, Marina comes to her rescue. “House tour?” she asks simply.

Pearl pounces on the idea. “Sure! Callie? Marie? Wanna tag along?”

Marie clearly doesn’t want to leave her coffee and Callie can read the room. “You two have fun,” Callie trills as she waves her fingers at them. “We’ll stay here in case Three needs anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment is upon us... Dun dun dun... 
> 
> Short chapter this time, but we needed something slow and calm after everything that's happened. 
> 
> Find me on elsewhere on tumblr @theashemarie, where I post writing snippets sometimes and jabber about my gf, and on twitter @theashemarie where I post Splatoon clips and like things sometimes! 
> 
> Thank you so so much for all the nice comments!! We're almost at the end and the support for this fic has absolutely blown me away. I hope all of you enjoy the last few chapters and I hope that you'll continue to keep up with my writing after this! 
> 
> Next update will be Saturday, May 4! See you then! 
> 
> Kudos are appreciated; comments cherished.


	11. The Tour

Marina doesn’t actually want a house tour, that much is clear once they get out of the kitchen and into the west wing, toward the bowling alley and home theater. She grabs Pearl’s shoulder and pulls them to a stop. “So... When were you planning on telling me about all of this?”

The question is so gentle, without any of the malice that Pearl expects and thinks she deserves. She shrugs, because she’s not sure, not really, and instead of answering she continues walking. “I want to show you something.”

Marina doesn’t press the issue and follows quietly, a few feet behind Pearl. Eventually, they reach a glass door, behind which hides an elevator. Pearl opens it carefully and gestures Marina inside. To her credit, Marina only hesitates for a second.

“C’mon ‘Reena,” Pearl teases as she closes the glass door and then pulls the inner sliding door closed; she presses the button for the basement. “You took me to your place without warning, remember? Trust me a little.”

The elevator begins to move, taking them down, down, past the subfloor where her father keeps his cars and then to the basement. It’s the only place in the house where Pearl can scream her lungs out without bothering anyone, so her father let her have it all to herself, let her remodel it as she pleased.

The doors open to a nondescript hallway, and Pearl leads Marina a few feet away, to another door. “After you,” she says as she steps aside. Tentatively, Marina wraps her hand around the knob and pushes it open.

Marina gasps as she steps inside. Her hands come up to cover her mouth and Pearl follows closely but silently, so as to not to startle her. “Pearl...” she whispers.

It’s Pearl’s greatest accomplishment: her soundproof, state-of-the art recording studio, with dozens of instruments—drums, guitars, basses, keyboards—pressed against and lining the walls, an expansive mixing set-up, and the best microphones money can buy. She’s spent countless hours down here, noodling with the instruments, playing around with the filters, and, recently, even more time with her former band, recording songs, mixing, arguing.

Marina takes one look and nearly falls over. “Pearl... This is too much.”

Pearl shrugs. “The best money can buy. I’m constantly updating it too. That’s how rich I am.” It’s not a brag. Instead, Pearl says it as an illustration, an attempt to get Marina to understand without having to actually drag her around the whole house and rub it in her face.

Marina steps forward and grabs onto the back of the couch, a large sectional pressed into a corner. Pearl remembers, distantly, making out with a girl on this very couch, and then a different one a few hours later, and shakes the thought out of her mind. That hasn’t happened in a long time, and she’s determined not to become that person again. She has to be good for Marina.

Carefully, Marina makes her way toward the mixing console and she runs her hands over the soundboards, touching the dials and sliders with reverent fingers. Pearl just had those installed a month ago, half-compulsively and half because she figured Marina would eventually end up in here, one way or another. “This is...” Marina looks at her and her eyes are wide, almost scared, daunted by the idea of so much wealth.

Pearl sighs and rubs her hands over her eyes. “That’s why I didn’t tell you,” she says. Carefully she pulls the rolling chair away from the table and gestures Marina toward it. Marina cautiously sits and Pearl hands her the headphones. They’re more expensive than the ones that Marina wears normally, less worn, and she pulls them on with an expert hand. They fit perfectly.

Pearl backs away and walks through the door to the live room, where a single stool is positioned next to the hanging microphone. The music stand is lowered, and Pearl doesn’t bother to move it. Carefully, she taps the mic and sees Marina press a few buttons. Pearl tugs her own headphones on, and she leans close to the microphone. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to treat me any differently,” she says. “I was scared. For once in my life, someone liked me for me, not for my money.”

Marina sighs. Pearl can see it through the window. Then, she leans toward her own mic and holds down the button so Pearl can hear her. “I understand,” she says simply. “I get it. I just wish you had told me. I totally understand not wanting to be treated differently.” She releases the mute button so she can tug her headphone to the side. Pearl can see her ear even from here, complete in its roundness.

It’s not nearly the same thing, but Pearl appreciates the gesture. “I messed up,” she says instead. “I’m sorry, Marina. I should have told you as soon as you brought me to your house. I should have offered you this room as soon as I stepped out of your closet. I fucked up. But I... I really like you. And I want to do right by you. So... I have an idea.”

Marina leans toward the window, clearly curious.

“You can use this room, no questions asked. It’s yours. You can live in here for all I care. And... When I walk back into control room, we start over?”

Marina considers that and then nods, slow, thoughtful. “On one condition,” she says, leaning so close to the mic and Pearl can hear her breathing. She has a slight smile on her face. “Next weekend we record a _real_ demo.”

Pearl grins, whoops, throws her headphones off, and rushes back for the door. The window’s separation was necessary for that conversation, for Pearl to finally say it, and the gesture is more symbolic than anything, but as soon as she opens the door, she feels refreshed, like all of the weight that’s been pressing on her has released.

“Hi,” she says when she reaches Marina. Carefully, she holds out her hand. “I’m Pearl Houzuki. I’m filthy rich.”

Marina chuckles and grabs her hand. “Marina Iida. I’m not from around here.”

As they shake, Pearl stares at their hands, at those long fingers, and follows the long line of Marina’s arm up past the hoodie and to her face. Marina is looking at their hands too, and she has a slight blush on her face.

“I have another secret,” Pearl continues, mouth moving without her permission. Marina looks up, concerned. “I have a crush on this girl... She’s got the cutest ears.”

Marina smiles then, a small thing, but it’s like being struck by lightning. Pearl laughs and feels like she could take off into a superjump, into flight, just from the joy.

“That’s funny,” Marina says. She pulls Pearl close by the hand. “I have a crush on a girl too. She’s short and has a hell of a voice.”

Pearl makes a show of thinking, looking up and away from Marina in faux concentration. Carefully, she lifts slightly onto her toes. “Do I know her?”

“Mm, maybe.” Marina leans closer. “She lives around here.”

Pearl doesn’t get the chance to answer. Marina presses close, as close as she can, and suddenly their lips are touching. Was it really only last night that they kissed for the first time? It deepens immediately, desperate from everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours, and Pearl loses all thought and falls back onto her heels, dragging Marina down with her. Just there, she feels Marina’s teeth graze her lip and she can’t remember her own name for a second. Marina laughs against Pearl’s mouth and Pearl feels the vibration of it through her whole body. It makes her skin ripple up into goosebumps and she pulls away so she can press her face into Marina’s neck and laughs, deep and bellyful.

“We _have_ to keep meeting like this,” Pearl mutters against the skin of Marina’s neck. To her delight, she feels Marina shiver.

“Absolutely,” Marina says back, soft and hushed. Carefully, she steps away from Pearl and straightens her (Pearl’s) hoodie. “But right now, we should probably go check on everyone else.”

Pearl pouts but Marina has a point. At least one of them is responsible. “I guess. We’ll pick this up later.”

Marina chuckles again. “I look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alt. title: The Kiss (Redux)
> 
> I ended up adding two more chapters to this story last week because I wasn't happy with how this thing ended, so you'll notice that we're up to 14 chapters instead of 12. So! We have a few more weeks to go before this thing is over! 
> 
> I am going to be writing a sequel, but in the meantime I'm churning out some oneshots that take place between the end of this story and the beginning of the next one, so once this story is over, keep your eyes peeled for those! They're pretty neat if you ask me.
> 
> Shout out to everyone who's read, left kudos, and commented! You make posting this story on the emotionless internet worthwhile. Thank you so much! 
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on Saturday, May 11! (The day after I graduate from grad school with my masters! AAA!) See you then!
> 
> Kudos appreciated; comments cherished! <3


	12. The Submerge

The next couple hours pass quickly. They sit vigil at the kitchen table until Dr. Garra returns, talking quietly amongst themselves, and Marina sits close to Pearl, leaning into her shoulder. It makes Pearl’s skin light up with warmth; distantly, she finds herself wondering if this is what she can expect, if this is Marina’s normal, if octolings are this touchy-feely. If it is, she’s perfectly fine with it. She’s more than fine with it.

Cuttlefish is chased out of Three’s room only when Dr. Garra arrives at around four in the afternoon. The doctor looks rested now, and she holds the door open as Cuttlefish toddles through. Pearl barely hears her greet Three before the door swings shut.

“How is she?” Marina asks Cuttlefish as he takes a seat at the small table next to Callie. He reaches for a bagel, the first time he’s eaten all day, and chomps into it dry and cold.

“Back to normal,” he says. “Whatever you did last night fixed her good.”

Marina looks down at her hands, but Pearl can see the small, flattered smile on her face. “I’m glad I could help.”

Cuttlefish leans across the table, squints hard at Marina. “You saved her life. I truly am sorry for how I treated you. You are a trusted friend.” Carefully, he places his old, wrinkled hand on the table, open for Marina to take. “If you ever need anything, contact me.”

Marina looks up and reaches across to grasp his hand without hesitation. Pearl sees him squeeze it, his old fingers tight around her teal-tipped ones, and Marina nods. Pearl feels her relax slightly as she gets her hand back.

“And you, Houzuki,” Cuttlefish begins as he looks at Pearl.

“It’s Pearl,” she returns, almost snippy. “Houzuki is my father.”

He smiles, small, as if he’s used to this kind of thing. “Of course, Pearl. Thank you as well. If not for you, Three would not be recovering so swiftly. Your doctor has been attentive, and your house has been comfortable and warm.” Stiffly, he stands and bows, deep at the waist.

It’s overly formal, but Pearl is used to such things. She detaches herself from Marina, stands, and follows his lead, clasping her hands in front of her body and matching the depth. “I would do it again in an instant.”

When she sits back down, Callie is smiling huge, finally back to her normal, chipper self, and Marie looks satisfied, content with the day. Pearl grins at them, happy to finally use her wealth to do something useful, and she feels Marina grab her leg and squeeze, clearly just as proud.

“Well,” Marie says, “since we’re all being so sappy. Thanks Pearl. Also, don’t think this lets you off the hook for your shift Monday.”

Pearl laughs, throws her head back with it. “Wouldn’t dream of it!”

+

When Dr. Garra emerges from Three’s room, it’s with a grim look on her face. “I don’t know what you’ve been feeding her, but she’s ready for her stitches to come out. Does anyone have a weapon? We need to submerge her. Even a sprinkler will do.”

Callie and Marie look at each other, lost, and Marina holds her hands up to prove her innocence. It’s pretty rude to bring weapons into someone else’s house without permission, especially if you’re not in the tournament circuit. Cuttlefish looks down at his cane and shakes his head.

Pearl rises from the table. “I have a Splattershot Jr. in my room. I’ll go get it.”

“You have a _Junior_?” Callie asks, incredulous. Fair enough—Pearl is usually a .52 Gal or Tentatek Splattershot kind of gal, but she keeps those in her locker at the train station. Easier to get to if she wants to hop into a turf war or two after work.

“Don’t we all?” Pearl shoots back, which makes everyone, including Marina, laugh.

When she returns with the shooter, shouldering her small, old, training ink tank, everyone is crowded into Three’s room. Dr. Garra has Three’s shirt pushed up and she’s showing Marina the stitches, how the wound has almost completely sealed itself. “All that we have to do now,” the doctor says, “is cut them loose and a good swim should close it up completely and get rid of the scar. Can you change forms?” The last she directs at Three, who merely grins.

“Can I change forms? I was _born_ in squid form.”

“You’re a little smartass, aren’t you? I like it.” Dr. Garra rubs a hand on the top of Three’s head, an affectionate gesture that makes the girl chuckle. Dr. Garra turns to Pearl, who is slouching slightly under the weight of the slowly-filling ink tank. The ink is bright green, like Three’s hair, like Pearl’s hair, a change that she made with barely any thought. Marina’s eyes are wide as Pearl hoists the Junior into the air, in a familiar victory pose.

“Where you want it?” Pearl asks.

Dr. Garra gestures widely at the floor. “Anywhere. Let’s keep it off the bed, just in case it doesn’t work and we have to put her back.”

“Acknowledged.” Pearl aims and fires, a few sharp bursts that paint a small section of the wood floor in a bright, fluorescent green. “Turf inked, doc.” She even salutes, a gesture that makes Callie and Marina giggle.

“Good. All right, my perfect patient. In you go.”

Three nods and stands shakily. Carefully, Dr. Garra and Marina help her take the few steps to the ink and then help her to her knees, where she leans over and touches a hand to the puddle. There’s no negative reaction, so Pearl matched the shade perfectly, and Three grins once before tipping forward. She turns into a squid as she goes and drops completely into the splotch with barely a splash.

“Ten minutes ought to do it.” Dr. Garra leans against the bed, exhausted. “After that, she’ll be good as new. Man, what a hell of a case.”

Callie immediately jumps in to distract her, a weak attempt to keep her from going down that train of thought. Marie joins her, and soon the three of them are chatting about coffee. Pearl hears Callie invite Dr. Garra to Fresh Start for a free drink and she shakes her head, bemused.

“This is a nice look on you,” Marina says as she appears at Pearl’s side. She brushes a light finger over Pearl’s hair.

“You think?” Pearl turns so she can spy herself in the dresser mirror. “Hm, it’s pretty badass, in a neon, disco-y kinda way. I think I like the pink better though.”

Marina chuckles and watches as Pearl’s hair changes from the bright green to the softer, pastel pink that she prefers. “Me too,” Marina says. “Even when you were wearing all that black, you had the pink. It’s what made me want to talk to you.”

Pearl drops the ink tank to the floor and stretches. “Really? And here I thought it was my roguish good looks.”

Marina grabs up the ink tank, holds it between her two hands as she stares at it. Carefully, her fingers begin to probe at the top, where the cap is loose from one too many rough moments in Pearl’s childhood. “It was both,” Marina answers. Carefully, she pries the top off and a splat bomb forms in her hand.

Pearl doesn’t say anything, even though now Marina will have to throw it. It’s not like this room hasn’t seen its fair share of ink already.

But then, Marina tuts and collapses the bomb with a twist of her fingers. It merges back into the top of the tank and disappears. Pearl gawks.

“These old tanks were a little finnicky like that. I found one at Ammo Knights once and fixed it. That’s why there’s a new line of training tanks.” Marina hands the tank back and Pearl lets it fall to their feet.

“That was _you?_ You’re smart,” she says, with dumb admiration on her face and in her voice. She doesn’t even care that she’s revealing herself to be the dumbass that she is. Marina’s so smart and pretty and capable.

Marina laughs, and it’s the first time Pearl has ever heard her sound so free and happy.

+

When Three emerges from the ink, it’s with a happy little hop. As soon as Dr. Garra gives her the all clear, she bounces back into her humanoid form, cheering.

Then, she hisses and has to lean against the side of the bed, clutching her side.

“Take it easy, will ya?” Dr. Garra demands. She doesn’t look worried though. “You young ones always push it. The skin is still thin. Give it a few days before you start jumping around like that.”

Three smiles a pained smile. “You got it, doc,” she wheezes. Quickly, Callie shames her back into bed, wagging her finger as she goes, and Three begrudgingly follows orders. As Callie hoists the blanket up to her chin, she very bravely (in Pearl’s opinion) quips, “You gonna read me a bedtime story too?”

Callie grins. “Actually yes! Last night, Marie and I wrote up some ground rules.” Callie holds up her phone, screen bright and primed to the notes application. There’s a lot of text. “Let’s go over them, shall we?”

“Nooooo!” Three wails. “Please, I’m trying to _heal_ —”

“Rule one: The Agent, hereby known as Three, will not, under any circumstances, be allowed to enter the sewer without supervision. Rule Two—”

“Pearl! Help!”

Pearl quickly steps toward the door. “Hey doc, lemme show you out. I know you want to get home to your kids. How are they? Has Kelpie managed fingers yet?”

Dr. Garra follows her, bemused but clearly anxious to get out of earshot of the incriminating information Callie is spouting. “Yes,” the doctor says loudly, over Callie’s metered and controlled recitation of Rule Two. ( _Three will not, under any circumstances, be allowed to operate any special weapons without a limiter_.) “She’s got her humanoid form down and decided that she’s a roller girl. She wants a Dynamo for her birthday.”

“Marina!” Three wails. “Save me! Use your training!”

“This is nothing,” Marina shoots back. She’s standing right behind Callie, Marie trying not to laugh next to her, looking incredibly amused by everything. “Call me when they have you running ten miles and doing two hundred pushups before sunrise.”

“Oh, that’s coming up! There’s ten rules.” Callie trills, far too pleased with herself. “Rule Three: Three, the agent, will _always_ contact either Agents One and Two, otherwise known as Callie and Marie, before going on a mission. Cap’n Cuttlefish is not a suitable chaperone.”

“Hey hey!” Cuttlefish cuts in.

Pearl laughs and ushers Dr. Garra out. She doesn’t bother to close the door as they leave, because she figures that Three has been cooped up in those four walls for long enough.

“That Marina sure is something special,” Dr. Garra says as Pearl opens the front door for her. “I haven’t seen an octoling in a long time.”

For a second, Pearl tenses, panicked because if the doctor figured it out, then _anyone_ could, but then she realizes that Marina isn’t wearing her hat. Her ears are on full display. Fair enough, Dr. Garra is one of the most trustworthy people Pearl knows. It comforts her a little, to think that Marina trusts Pearl enough to be at ease around her people.

“Yeah, she is.” Pearl sighs and leans against the door. “You know you can’t tell anyone about this.”

Dr. Garra chuckles and hoists her bag higher on her shoulder. “Doctor-patient privilege. Plus, your father pays me more than enough to keep everything a secret. I doubt anyone could bribe me with more money to get me to talk.”

It’s clearly a joke, but it makes Pearl a little queasy to think about. All of this has just made her more and more painfully aware of how much money controls and defines her life.

Dr. Garra isn’t stupid so she clocks Pearl’s discomfort the second it registers on her face. “Pearl...” She puts her hand on Pearl’s shoulder. “I remember the first time I met you. This tall,” she holds her hand at hip height, “and nothing but a blob of green. Eyeballs bigger than your head. Your dad told me that green was your new favorite color, but you’d probably be back to pink the next day. And you know what? You were. That’s the only predictable thing about you. You’re always pink.”

Pearl isn’t sure where she’s going with this, so she doesn’t say anything. Distantly, she’s extremely thankful that the doctor is keeping her voice low. She doesn’t need any of the others hearing this.

“I think Marina is good for you. You both need a little stability. Keep being pink. Extend that pink energy into the rest of your life. You need it. You and Marina both.”

Pearl blows out a harsh breath. “Y’know, you’re the only adult who’s ever given me advice.”

Dr. Garra laughs and squeezes Pearl’s shoulder. “That’s because I’m sick of putting you back together again after all your dumb stunts. Please, for the love of everything, just _domesticate_ already. It’ll make my job easier.”

Pearl laughs and shakes her head. She can’t stop smiling. “C’mon, you’ll never be able to fully domesticate this! Just look at me! I’m meant for the stage! But... I’ll try. A little bit.”

Dr. Garra shrugs. “That’s all I ask. Please call me before you do the next dumb thing, just so I’ll be there. Also, try to keep your teeth where they belong.” She hoists her bag again and turns to leave.

“No promises!”

“Didn’t think so! I’ll be back tomorrow to check on Three!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay strawberry-frosted Pearl.
> 
> Longer chapter this time, with some lore. Most of this I've been making up as I go along, but this chapter was really fun to write! Please ignore any flubbed science or weird doctoring. I'm trying my best. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who congratulated me on graduation and who left comments last chapter! I won't have time to reply to comments for two weeks, but please know that I DO read them all! And they all make my life better! 
> 
> Next chapter MIGHT be uploaded on Saturday, May 18. I'm not sure if I'll have internet access then because I'll be in Florida on vacation. If it doesn't go up then, I'll post it on Saturday, May 25. See you soon! 
> 
> Kudos appreciated; comments cherished!


	13. The Agreement

That evening, Callie and Marie go home. Marie says that she wants clean clothes and to sleep in her bed and Callie says that she doesn’t want to be a bother anymore. Plus, they trust Pearl to watch out for Three. Cuttlefish, for all of his gratitude, doesn’t, so he opts to stay. He does take a bedroom upstairs, complaining that the couch was like rocks on his back. That leaves Marina, who doesn’t make a single noise one way or the other. They see Callie and Marie off like a proper domestic couple, get Cuttlefish situated in his room, and suddenly it’s just the two of them.

“So...” Pearl says. “Pizza?”

Marina cocks an eyebrow and goes to the fridge. When she realizes how empty it is, she spins around and pins Pearl with an appalled stare.

“Don’t give me that look.” Pearl crosses her arms. “This is just something you’re gonna have to accept, Mar. I can’t cook.”

Marina leans back against the fridge. “I thought you said no more secrets,” she shoots back, but it’s with a lighthearted tone so Pearl relaxes a little.

“I’m full of secrets, babe. I’m an enigma wrapped in a mystery.”

Marina rolls her eyes. “How often do you eat pizza?”

“Not that often!” Pearl defends. “Like once a week.”

Marina makes a choked sound, which sends Pearl backpedaling.

“To be fair! To be fuckin’ fair! It’s just me most of the time! When my dad’s here the cook makes dinner but when he’s not I’m on my own! I don’t like making her cook for just me!”

Marina leans her head back and sighs. “Okay, I get it. But I’m going to teach you a few things. Not today,” she cuts across when Pearl opens her mouth to argue. “Let’s get pizza.”

They eat in companionable silence and Pearl watches Marina as she slowly reads over the pizza box and then the receipt. She mouths a few of the words as she goes, sounding out _pineapple, pepperoni, mushroom_ , _olive_ like a child learning to speak.

“Explain something to me,” Marina says suddenly. “Your father isn’t really around, is he?”

Pearl shrugs and picks a pepperoni off her slice. “Nah, but it’s not like I’m a child. I can take care of myself. Only reason I still live here is because I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Marina watches as Pearl pops the pepperoni into her mouth and chews slowly. “I understand. I don’t like living alone,” Marina mutters. “Don’t misunderstand. At first, I liked it. No more snoring, no more being woken up past midnight because someone came in late, my own shower... But, it’s too quiet.”

Pearl shifts uncomfortably. “It’s quiet here too, even when my dad is here. We don’t really cross paths, and the house is big. When things are big like this, they’re usually quiet.”

Marina hums and leans back in her seat. She’s still wearing Pearl’s clothes, has the sleeves of the hoodie pushed up to her elbows, and her hair is swept back into a high ponytail, the first time Pearl’s seen it away from her face. “That’s why you go back to Fresh Start every day.”

She’s right, Pearl realizes with a jolt. That, and she likes the company. There’s something about being around people and activity every day that makes her happier. Away from all this, stuck in the middle of the real world, always busy with coffee and dishes and coworkers and customers and baking and the cash register. It centers her in a way.

“Yeah, plus I get to see you,” Pearl says instead of all that.

Marina smiles, flattered by the attention, still riding high off their last kiss, the whirlwind of the last day. “Purpose is good. For a while, after I moved to the city, I didn’t know what I was doing. I just moped around and felt sorry for myself for like a month and it felt _awful._ I didn’t talk to anyone. Then, I decided that I knew enough of the language to try to get a job. That helped a lot. But... It wasn’t until I started making music that I found some real happiness.”

Pearl gets that too. She’s been trying to find her voice for a while, and music is the only way that she’s really been able to articulate herself. But she always felt there was something missing.

Until Marina. Until they made that demo and she finally felt like she’d found her sound.

Pearl pushes her plate away, suddenly alive with energy. “I’m the same! We’re gonna make it big, just you wait. I want to make music with you forever!”

Marina looks taken aback for a second and Pearl sees her cheeks color with a slight blush, but she can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed. She doesn’t want to hold anything back anymore, not when it comes to Marina. She deserves Pearl’s all, and Pearl is determined to give it to her.

“We have everything we need, down in the basement. Oh! And we have something else...”

Pearl pulls the case off the back of her phone and retrieves the business card that Callie gave her. She offers it to Marina, handles it like it’s made of glass, and watches Marina’s eyes widen as she reads it.

“Where’d you get this?” she demands.

“Callie gave it to me. That’s her agent. She said we should call her and say that she sent us. What do you think?”

Marina places the card gently on the table. “I— This is... It’s amazing. But—”

Uh oh.

“But I’m not sure if I’m ready to go this fast. I need time... We need to develop our sound, our image—”

“Hey.” Pearl stands and steps around the table. Carefully, she takes Marina’s hands in hers and crouches so that she’s at about eye level. “Hey, it’s okay. We can do it the old-fashioned way. There’s something super charming about selling homemade CDs in front of the supermarket.”

Marina breathes out slowly. “I want to make music, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for all of those eyes. I need to ease into it.”

That hits like a truck of bricks and Pearl doesn’t hesitate. She nods. “Okay.” She grabs the card and rips it cleanly in two. “Okay. We’ll claw our way up from the bottom. Hell, it might be fun. Last time I did this, I had an unfair advantage. Turns out you can buy your way into anything.”

Marina chuckles hollowly and puts a hand on Pearl’s cheek. “Thank you. I know that you want this too. I just—”

“Hey, I get it. You’re in control here. I have all the time in the world and you’re dealing with a lot of shit. You get to tell me what to do.”

Marina leans forward and presses a small kiss to Pearl’s lips, nothing more than a brush of skin on skin, but it still makes Pearl’s brain ring. She doesn’t try to deepen it because it isn’t that kind of kiss, but that reminds her.

“We should probably talk about this too,” she says as she reaches up and wraps her fingers around Marina’s hand. She pulls it away from her own face and holds it in front of her. “I want to do this right, but there’s a lot of shit all tangled up here.”

Marina looks down at their hands and doesn’t say anything for a second. Carefully, she lays her other hand on top of Pearl’s and Pearl feels her thumb move in a soothing, swirling motion. “I want this,” Marina says simply. “I want to be with you. I want to make music with you. I want to spend time with you.”

Pearl can’t help the smile that blooms across her face. “Me too,” she says, breathless. “All of it. Same. Big same. Fuck, I just want to be around you. I’ve wanted to since I met you.”

Marina smiles in return and suddenly they’re two smiling fools, faces split in two, cheeks aching. Pearl wants to kiss her. She wants to kiss her so bad.

“Slow though,” Marina says, quietly.

“Oh, absolutely.” Pearl would agree to anything right now, but this is one that she’s determined to maintain. If Marina wants to keep things quiet, if Marina wants to move slow, if Marina wants to move fast, if Marina wants to scream it from the rooftops, Pearl will be there. She’s not going to fuck this one up. And, more than anything, she wants to make Marina happy because she’s gone through so much already, is still so new to Inkopolis and its culture, is still so vulnerable in her own small ways. Pearl is determined to let her get through all that, all _this_ , at her own pace, and she’ll help her, if she needs it.

And then, just to show her how slow she can go, Pearl stands and slowly, so slowly, leans over. By the time her forehead is touching Marina’s, Marina has clearly had it with her. She reaches up, grabs the back of Pearl’s neck, and pulls her down into the kiss they’ve both been waiting for.

+

Three is discharged with a full bill of health the next morning. The wonder of ink—good as new with a clear scar. Dr. Garra whistled when she saw it, and she touched it with one probing finger once. “Damn, sometimes even I’m impressed.”

Three preened and bounced off of the bed. “So, when can I jump back into turf war?”

“Give it a week,” Dr. Garra said. “You work in a coffee shop, right? You can go back to work tomorrow but no heavy lifting. You’re on cash register duty for a few days.”

Callie and Marie arrive to escort her and their grandfather home. As they leave, Cuttlefish tries to thank Pearl and Marina again, but Pearl cuts him off. “I’d do it again in a second,” she says as he hovers in the doorway. Three is already in the car and Callie is standing near the door, holding it open for her grandfather. Marie is at the wheel with sunglasses over her eyes. Her mouth is pulled into a tight line.

“Hopefully you won’t have to,” Cuttlefish says in return. “Still, thank you.”

He toddles off and Pearl and Marina watch as Callie helps him into the car. Marie rolls down the window and leans out. “Bright and early tomorrow, Pearl! We have some things to discuss.”

Pearl sighs and leans back into Marina. For her part, Marina throws an arm over Pearl’s shoulder and down over her chest. The weight of it is comforting. “Do someone a favor...” Pearl mutters as she watches them drive away. “Well, at least we have the rest of the day to ourselves. What do you wanna do?”

Marina leans down and places a soft kiss on the top of Pearl’s head. “I have an idea.”

“I do too. I bet it’s the same idea.”

Marina chuckles and Pearl feels it vibrate through her back. “Studio?”

“Hell yeah, let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pearl is secretly sappy romantic. Let her have this. 
> 
> Well! Clearly I didn't have internet last weekend, but here I am now! We have one chapter to go after this. I can't believe this story is almost over. I'm blown away by the response I've gotten because I expected everyone to kinda just gloss over this flagrant piece of tropey fun, so I can't thank everyone enough for all of their kind words and kudos. And I can't wait to keep playing around in this AU, even if just for a little bit longer. There's a few more characters I want you to meet in the sequels ;) 
> 
> The final, fourteenth chapter will be posted on Saturday, June 1! See you then! 
> 
> As always, kudos are appreciated, but comments are cherished! <3


	14. The Change

Monday morning dawns way too early for Pearl. She wakes up warm for the third night in a row and is greeted with Marina’s bright, open eyes. The alarm is a persistent beep and Pearl rolls over to push the clock off the nightstand.

Pearl drops Marina off at her apartment as she walks through the plaza toward Fresh Start. Marina has an afternoon shift at Ammo Knights—the benefits of having an understanding boss—but they’re going to see each other tonight. It’s about time that Pearl stays at Marina’s.

Pearl watches Marina disappear into her building with something like sadness in her chest. This is the first time they’ve been apart in three days, and it’s with a bit of a jolt that she realizes that she’s already gotten used to having Marina there. It’s like losing her right arm—suddenly she feels off balance and like she can’t quite feel herself.

The shop is bright when she arrives. She walks in through the front door and heads into the back to deposit her bag. And, it is approximately at this moment that she realizes that the envelope is still in the fire box. The envelope with the money. The money for Marina.

The money that Pearl definitely can’t give her now.

“Well... _fuck_ ,” she whispers to herself.

“Nice to see you too,” Three trills as she sweeps into the room. She chucks her jacket and bag next to Pearl’s and hoists her shirt up without preamble. “Check out my sick scar! It’s so straight! I kinda wish I had asked Marina to make a lightning bolt with the stitches. That would’a been _rad_.”

Pearl is barely listening. “Uh huh...” She tows open the supply closet and grabs the box out. A quick flip of her fingers does the combination lock and there’s the envelope. She pulls it out and it’s so much heavier than she remembered.

“Do you think they could put a tattoo over it? I wanna memorialize it somehow.”

Pearl knows what she has to do with the money. It hits her then as she turns to see Three with her sweatshirt pulled up, poking at her own scar. Marina could use the money, but she’s already moved on from the violence and danger that the clash between inklings and octolings has produced. Instead, there’s someone else who needs it more.

“Here.” Pearl shoves the envelope at Three before she can second guess herself. “Don’t open it until you get home.”

Three breaks the only rule immediately. She rips it open with her teeth and peers inside; she gapes. “No way! Again?!”

“You’re lucky I was dumb enough to take my father’s bet. That’s half of the money I earned working here. You already have the other half.”

Three slumps, shocked. “I can’t take this...”

“You can,” Pearl asserts. “You need it. Get yourself a nice apartment and invest in a few good turf war weapons. You deserve to be a kid.”

Three pulls the envelope close to her chest and crosses her arms over it, a protective move that makes Pearl realize just how privileged a life she’s been leading. That much money is nothing to her, but to Three, it’s the world.

She feels something click in her and she resolves to do this right. All of it. She’s starting from the bottom with Marina and she’s not going to cheat. She’s going to bust her ass and work hard and she’s going to get her dream.

And she’s going to help Three out any way she can. If that means bullying Callie and Marie into letting her off the hook from this agent nonsense or making sure she has enough food and clothing, then so be it. This can’t go on.

“Hey!” Marie calls. “Staff meeting! Let’s go! Before we have to open!”

+

They sit at one of the corner tables, Callie and Marie on one side, Pearl and Three on the other. For a few seconds, they stare each other down.

“Okay,” Callie says. She takes a deep breath. “So, the weekend was nuts.” 

“Pretty chill for me,” Three cuts in, trying to break the tension. “I slept for most of it. And Pearl here had a _great_ weekend.”

“Ahem,” Marie coughs, before Pearl can confirm that _yes,_ her weekend was _fantastic_. “It made us realize a few things, so there’s going to be a few changes. First, Callie and I are taking a break from the shop.”

“ _What_?” Three and Pearl demand at the same time.

“We want to focus on music,” Callie jumps in. “We’re going to stop hiding, so we can’t really work here anymore once everyone knows who we are. But—” she continues when Three looks ready to jump up on the table and scream. “ _But_ we’re leaving you in good hands. We want to appoint a manager. Higher pay and you can hire whoever you want to help you.”

Three looks at Pearl, as if Callie’s giving it to her. But Callie is looking right at Three.

“Three,” Marie says. “We want _you_ to manage the shop. Pearl doesn’t need the money and she’s not exactly the most reliable person in the world.”

“No offense taken,” Pearl mutters as she crosses one leg over the other and leans back in her seat.

“ _Me?_ ” Three is flabbergasted. “Am I being punk’d? First the money and now this? I should get shot more often!”

“ _No_ ,” Callie, Marie, and Pearl thunder as one, and then look at each other and laugh.

“No,” Callie continues. “No, you’re not being punk’d. You’re the most capable and reliable person we know. You know this place inside and out, you’re great with the customers, you know how to bake, you’re good with money. It _has_ to be you. And, once you get more people in here, you’ll have time for... other things.”

“Like turf war,” Pearl asserts, voice upbeat with just an edge of a threat. She _will_ see Three have the chance to be a kid, at least a little.

“Like turf war,” Marie assures her. “What do you say, Three?”

“So, I get to boss Pearl around? And I get to decide what pastries we sell? _And_ I get to choose the dress code?”

“With our approval, sure.” Callie sounds incredibly amused, especially at the idea of Three telling Pearl what to do.

“Hell yeah I’ll take it! Effectively immediately, right? Pearl, we need to—”

“Hang on, squirt,” Pearl says. She crosses her arms and bounces her foot. Her combat boots are heavy. “I have something I want to say too. I want to switch to part-time.”

“Figured,” Callie and Marie say together. “We accounted for that,” Callie continues, “so Marie and I are gonna stay on for a few more weeks while we hire some new people. We’ll figure the schedules out later.”

That was painless, and Pearl slumps a little out of relief. She needs more time to spend on music, and she wants to look into getting an apartment in the city, but she can’t leave this place. Not yet.

“Other than that, everything can keep going like normal,” Marie says. “Thanks, guys.”

“Wait!” Three calls as everyone moves to get up. “I have a proposition.”

“What?”

“I want... a cape.”

“No,” Marie says immediately.

“C’mon! It’ll look badass! Tell ‘em, Pearl!”

“Leave me out of this.”

“You can have a cape when you _earn_ it.”

“I saved the _zapfish!_ I think I’ve _more_ than earned it!”

+

That night, Pearl presses the buzzer to Marina’s apartment building tentatively. Seconds later, Marina buzzes her in, and Pearl takes the stairs slowly, trying to compose herself. This is the first time she’s been back at Marina’s since that fateful day with the closet, and it’s making her a bit nervous.

She fidgets as she stands next to the door, trying to force herself to knock. This is so silly. Why is she so nervous? They’ve already talked everything over. They’re good now. But, somehow, she still feels like she’s fifteen and picking her crush up for a chaperoned date. They’re both adults, damnit! She’s allowed to go in there and sweep Marina off her feet, to be her old punk rock, sarcastic self. Sure, she’s grown and learned a lot in the past couple months, but at her core she’s still the spoiled rich kid with a heart of gold.

At least, she hopes she is.

In the end, she doesn’t have to knock because Marina opens the door and pulls her in. She’s wearing her pajamas already—a tank top and shorts so short that Pearl can see the whole expanse of her leg. Pearl has to focus to keep herself from blushing pink.

“Did you miss me?” Pearl asks, grinning up at Marina’s beautiful face. Her hair is tied back again, and Pearl is beginning to really like it that way. It makes her eyes look huge.

“Did _you_ miss _me_?” Marina shoots back. She pads into the apartment and attends to something on the stove. Pearl follows her and peers at the food. “Hope you like ramen. It’s cheap and easy.”

Pearl has never actually had cheap ramen, but she doesn’t want to say so. “Sure, yeah.”

Marina must hear something in her voice because she grins. “It’s okay. You can tell me you’ve only eaten gourmet ramen. I’m gonna make it fancy anyway.” She pulls open one of the only two upper cabinets and Pearl is treated to the sight of a spice rack stuffed with bottles and jars. Behind the spices are vinegars, oils, and sauces. Pearl glances back at the pot and realizes that there’s a green onion, ready to be chopped, along with a few eggs.

“Damn girl. You must really like me.” Pearl smiles her suave smile and is rewarded with a slight blush on Marina’s face.

“I’m worried about your eating habits,” Marina shoots back. “And I might like you.”

“Well, I definitely like you!” Pearl throws an arm around Marina’s side and pulls her close, close enough that their hips are touching.

Marina laughs and turns so that she can lace her arms around Pearl’s neck. “Prove it.”

Pearl, never one to back down from a challenge, grins and elevates up on her toes. Her smile is fierce as she leans close. “Oh, I will.”

The kiss is all teeth, and when they emerge Marina looks like she’s on fire. Her eyes are wide, and her tongue is just poking out from between her lips. “You’re gonna have to do better than that,” she whispers.

Her low voice sends a sharp spike of heat through Pearl’s body and she bites the inside of her lip. “We got time,” she says in reply.

They meet again. They push into each other, but Marina wins out and Pearl feels herself stumbling backwards. Her back hits the wall and she lets out a sharp puff of air. Marina pulls back slightly to let Pearl get her bearings—but not too far. Pearl doesn’t let her. She pulls her back, pulls their bodies flush, and they don’t breathe again until the ramen timer goes off.

“Less time than I thought,” Pearl mumbles as Marina detangles herself to pull the noodles off the heat. Marina lets out a chiming laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, everyone, that's the end! 
> 
> But it's not over yet! Next Saturday I'll be posting the first in a series of oneshots as a sort of sequel to this story! I have an official sequel planned, but while I'm writing it I want to keep the fun going, so I'll be doing a set of oneshots that happen between the two mainline stories. I hope you'll continue to follow along in this journey. :) 
> 
> I also have another Pearlina story that I'm going to try to finish in the upcoming months. It's called Riding Out the Wave and I think it's pretty neat. 
> 
> This is the first long-form story that I've finished in a long time (I'm more of a oneshot writer), and I can't express how good it feels to be posting the final chapter today. Of course, there are quite a few people I'd like to thank really quickly: 
> 
> Thank you so so much to everyone who read, left kudos, and commented on this story. I started writing this way back in February, when I was in the thick of my last semester of graduate school and overwhelmed with my thesis, and this story was a way for me to blow off steam. While it only took me three weeks to write (I had a lot of steam!), this story has lived in me since then, thanks to all of the sweet, thoughtful comments I've received. The positive reaction that it's gotten has only motivated me to keep working on fanfic in my free time, so I can't thank everyone enough.
> 
> Thank you to my lads, Kiera, Al, Sammy (Blurry), Dante, Hero, and Dan, who have filled my life with so much support and laughter. I don't know what I'd do without my squad and their helpful, thoughtful words and kindness. 
> 
> Special thanks to my girlfriend Katie, who not only drew the cover art for this story but who read every word as I was writing it and left comments here on ao3 after reading it again. Your unshakeable love and enthusiastic joy for anything that I write encourages me more than you can ever know. I'm always excited to show you something, even if it's a short, 300 word WIP! I love you, Katiebug. 
> 
> (Also special shoutout to Katie, Kiera, and Dan again, for being a great Salmon Run/League Crew. My love for this game is sustained by how amazingly fun it is to group up with you guys, both when we're streaming and when we're just goofing off.) 
> 
> (Also also shoutout to the Salmon Run Tips community, including the Grizzco Break Room Discord server! In my off time I co-run the Salmon Run Tips tumblr blog and moderate the server and seeing everyone's undying love for one of my favorite game modes keeps me coming back to this game. I may not talk much in that server, but I love seeing everyone's art, writing, and their sick plays!) 
> 
> As always, you can find me elsewhere on tumblr @theashemarie (or @salmonruntips) or twitter. Same handle everywhere. 
> 
> All right, I think I've gushed enough. Thank you again. I hope to see you next week when I post my next piece, Studio Brew! 
> 
> That's a wrap!


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